


Adventures in Eorzea

by Aerythrin



Series: Iku'to and his Adventures [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:13:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerythrin/pseuds/Aerythrin
Summary: Iku'to Vhinyota is a naive, innocent fledgling adventurer who is just arriving in Ul'dah to begin his (hopefully epic) journey through Eorzea.





	1. The Carriage

**Author's Note:**

> Hello peoplefriends!
> 
> This work is a pet project of mine; I love the story of FFXIV so much that I decided to try my hand at writing it, with my own original character in the limelight. As such, please be aware that much NPC speech, and the events themselves, are taken from the game: BUT I will be exercising my creative right to edit/shorten events and speech alike - I don't want it to read like a game playthrough, I want it to read like one young man's epic adventures in the fantasy world so helpfully provided by Square Enix. I do, though, want it to be recognisable (to players especially) as the game's story: hence my decision to use a lot of the NPC dialogue. I don't want to go editing things too much and changing personalities, for example - and also, a lot of the FFXIV dialogue is quite witty. But, I will be trying to pare down the story a bit (or I fear I will never even get to anything important).
> 
> Please note that whilst this is the case, all of Iku'to's speech, actions and any unrelated events (eating, sleeping, drinking, days off with friends) are 100% my own design/work. The WOL in the game itself is a nice, blank canvas, so instead of being a stoic, empty shell of a character, Iku'to has his own distinctive personality.
> 
> My intention is just to keep going and going, using the story's events to tell Iku'to's tale, so be prepared that this could be a very LONG work, all things being equal.
> 
> Please also be aware that this is my first "formal" work of fiction, I have never written more than a few pages before, but felt passionately enough about this project to give it a proper go. I have included the comedy tag, but this is subject to change; my intention is for Iku'to and his personality to provide some laughs, but have no idea if I will be able to successfully pull it off.
> 
> I wanted to put a quick note here as it occured to me that Iku'to's confusion upon waking might be confusing in itself as he has been on the carriage ride for quite some time - the idea is that he alighted the carriage on his own, but he passes out somewhere along the way (from fatigue, from aether sickness, a combination most likely) and wakes up to company he did not previously have, and a very long way away from where he was before he lost consciousness. Obviously he becomes disorientated and his mind is still hazy from the crystal dream, and so forth. On re-reading I thought this was a little confusing, so thought it was worth clarifying.
> 
> Character list will be expanded as we meet more story characters, I have most likely missed some as it stands at the moment.
> 
> Finally, any and all feedback is appreciated. If there's any grammar/punctuation/spelling mistakes, improvements you can think of, general thoughts, or if you would just like to tell me what you liked or disliked about the chapter, PLEASE feel free to leave me a comment! I am but a fledgling writer, and I would like to treat this project as a learning process.

“Hey, you!”

Iku’to is woken by a hand alighting, with some force, on his shoulder. Instinctively, he shies away from the contact. He opens his eyes to see his assailant, only to have _them_ assaulted by the bright desert sun. He hisses and shades his eyes, squinting. A figure comes into focus before him; he can make out emerald eyes, tan skin, blonde facial hair and some unusual attire including a black cloth turban (which he later learns is practical, given the sun) and a fang-shaped earring in each ear. As his vision returns fully, Iku’to recognises the man as a Hyur.

“Y’all right, lad? You were moanin’ somethin’ fierce for a while there.”

Iku’to, slightly puzzled, gives a cautious nod of the head. His head feels light, fuzzy, as though waking after a long sleep or the like – mayhap he dozed off in the heat, he thinks. He recalls, in the dream he was having, glimpsing a man dressed entirely in black save for a red mask which covered the top half of his face, and fighting him…a mage? He sways slightly as one of the chocobos drawing the carriage he is riding snags her foot on a tussock of dry, bristly foliage Iku’to does not know the name of.

“Feelin’ the effects of the aether, I reckon,” continues the man, apparently having come to the conclusion that Iku’to is, indeed, all right, “you’ll get used to it, though. Don’t worry.”

“What-, “ begins Iku’to, groggy, his voice small. He is interrupted by the carriage shuddering to an unexpected stop. The two chocobos pulling the odd, floating carriage (held up by two oval, air-filled devices covered in a yellow cloth, between which sat the body of the carriage) gave an indignant ‘kweh!’.

“You there-halt!” he hears (and thinks it is a redundant order, as they are already at a standstill). Looking up, he realises the source of the booming command is a Hyur man on chocoboback, clad in red-tinted chainmail, a turban similar to the man in the carriage and a strange brown (leather? wonders Iku’to) mask besides. The driver of the carriage – a black-haired Lalafell – questions the man, disgruntled.

“INSPECTION!” shouts the man (from which Iku’to assumes he is the commander of the small force who have moved in to surround the carriage, not on chocoboback but sporting the same strange clothing as the first), waving a wicked-looking scimitar in the general direction of the driver.

“Men, search the carriage!” he barks, brandishing the scimitar dangerously close to the beak of the nearest chocobo, causing her to twitter and scratch the ground in alarm. The concerned passenger sighs, and rests his elbows on the top of his thighs, near his knees. Iku’to suspects, with a mixture of amusement and trepidation, that he is trying to look as non-threatening as possible.

“I’m just an honest peddler, friend,” he says, his tone light and unassuming, “so, er…don’t be too disappointed if you don’t find nothin’, eh?”

One of the men steps forward.

“Mind your tongue, old man,” he snarls nastily at the peddler, “lest I cut it out.” He begins his inspection of the carriage’s contents, riffling through the boxes and sacks that are neatly stacked at the back step, scattering items about him with little to no regard for their destinations. He stops, and Iku’to observes a predatory smile cross the man’s face – if only briefly – as he holds out a small linen sack to his captain.

“Sir, look!” he says, proudly, “Somnus!” He sounds almost excited about his discovery, and the captain turns his gaze (at least, Iku’to thinks he does, but it’s awfully hard to tell with that mask in the way) to the peddler.

“Since when do _honest peddlers_ deal in prohibited herbs?” he asks, placing great emphasis on the peddler’s previously uttered words, and curling his lip in an exceedingly condescending way, that Iku’to quickly decides is very unpleasant indeed, “you’re in a lot of trouble, old man” he continues, “unless you can afford the fine, you will rot in a dungeon ‘til the end of your days.”

The captain cocks his head, the same sneer on his face, as if waiting for a response. The peddler simply sighs, and mutters something which sounds suspiciously like ‘business as usual’. Iku’to briefly wonders what this could mean, but his musings are cut short as an arrow – slender and deadly – lands betwixt his feet.

“Amalj’aa! Amalj’aa! To arms!” comes the panicked cry. Iku’to swivels his ears before craning his neck in the direction of the voice. What arrives first in his vision is a man (in the same red chainmail as the others), panting, running towards the carriage…pursued by three of the most odd creatures Iku’to thinks he has ever seen. His tail bristles at the sight of them, the red hair standing proud, and he feels his lips curl as a hiss escapes his throat. The beastmen are tall, and a sort of blackish brown colour – scaly, thinks Iku’to, though it’s hard to tell from this distance even with his excellent eyesight – armed (two with hora, one with a bow and arrows; which explains where the missile came from, he thinks) and wearing tribal loincloths and jewellery. The sword-waving captain clicks his tongue and slaps the nearest chocobo drawing the carriage on its feathered rump – clearly he is disappointed to lose his quarry, but regardless he has sent the carriage and its passengers on their way to safety, away from the Amalj’aa.

When they are some yalms away, the peddler shakes his head and gives a wry chuckle. “You be careful ‘round them Brass Blades, lad. Bastards’ll have the shirt off your back if they fancy it. Like common bandits, only less honest,” he explains, and after the performance they have witnessed just moments before, Iku’to is inclined to agreement.

“Thank the gods for sendin’ some beastmen to the rescue, eh?!” the peddler quips. Iku’to rewards him with a funny, twisted grin; the scars on his left cheek, and his unhappy start to life, have left his facial muscles unsure what constitutes a genuine smile. He realises absently that the peddler has just asked him to ‘keep him company’ for the remainder of their journey (whatever that entails, he thinks), and perhaps foolishly, he allows himself another curt nod.

“Well…see…them young’uns don’t care much for conversation.”

The man gestures towards two young Elezen, whose presence Iku’to has barely registered before his attention is brought to them. He wonders if they are asleep, as he does not think they have displayed a reaction to any of the goings-on around them. The two look remarkably similar – white hair, long at the back, fashioned into a braid (one with a blue ribbon and one with a red ribbon, Iku’to notes). They are dressed in unremarkable plainclothes (again, one in blue, and one in red). The one on the left, with the red ribbon, may have softer features, Iku’to thinks, more feminine perhaps, but he finds it difficult to tell. His ruby eyes flick between them a while longer until he realises the Hyur is observing him, one eyebrow quirked up, clearly amused.

“Brendt’s the name, lad,” he says, struggling to keep the amusement out of his tone, “and peddlin’s me trade.”

Iku’to attempts another small smile, trying to encourage the man, but judging by Brendt’s fleeting look of alarm the endeavour was not entirely successful. Iku’to resolves not to attempt this manoeuvre again. Undeterred (even as Iku’to’s cheeks colour and he has to turn away to hide an embarrassed cough), Brendt looks him up and down with an appraising eye.

“Judgin’ by your...unusual garments…I’ll wager you’re one of them new adventurers.” Iku’to jumps minutely in surprise. Adventuring must be more common around here than he had thought. Brendt waxes lyrical for a short while about the excitement, fame and fortune that come with the adventuring profession. He also warns Iku’to to avoid death, which Iku’to wholeheartedly believes might be the only useful (even if it is, arguably, a very obvious sentiment) thing Brendt has said throughout their whole exchange. He prides himself on his patient nature, so instead of feeling irritated by the Hyur’s prattle, Iku’to finds it almost comforting; akin to background noise – a rushing stream, the breeze rustling through crisp leaves. Iku’to’s attention is brought back to the man, however, when he stops his chattering, and a serious look clouds his eyes.

“So…what was it that attracted you to adventurin’?” he enquires. Iku’to considers embellishing the truth, perhaps with a sprinkling of altruism, and tries to arrange his features into something resembling a convincing expression, but gives up soon after the muscle beneath his right eye begins to twitch uncomfortably. He decides honesty is the best policy.

“Well…” he coughs, clearing his throat of some sand that has accumulated there, “I am in pursuit of power.”

 _Ah_. Mayhap that was _too_ honest, he thinks. The way Brendt’s affable expression slips again, momentarily, (before he quickly catches himself and rearranges his features into the same, kindly gaze, a skill for which Iku’to feels highly jealous and resolves to practice when they reach the city) does not escape his notice.

“Well, I mean…” he starts, only to be cut off by Brendt, who has apparently recovered.

“…power, eh? As in…power to do good? Fightin’ for what’s right, an’ all that?”

Iku’to decides, in large part due to the way that Brendt’s eyes seem to be twinkling in anticipation, the best course of action is to agree, even if it isn’t the strict truth of the matter. He nods again, his hair slipping over his eye. He is distracted for a moment as he tries to brush it away.

“When you arrive in town, you’d best enrol at the Adventurer’s Guild,” Brendt is saying. Iku’to’s ears prick up. He undertook this long, gruelling journey with the intention of becoming an adventurer: whatever the implications. Brendt reminds Iku’to again that he should probably avoid dying on his journey. This time, Iku’to makes a ‘huh’ noise deep in his throat, accompanied by an expelling of breath which he hopes the peddler realises is a laugh to show Iku’to is taking his ‘advice’ in good humour. Iku’to thinks Brendt does realise - however, he is now unsure how to proceed with the conversation, and is suddenly fascinated by a loose thread on his shirt. Iku’to is jolted out of his uncomfortable state of awkwardness by a question.

“By the by…this your first trip to Ul’dah?” Iku’to nods, then instantly regrets it as Brendt launches into another speech – this time about sultanas (Iku’to finds himself vaguely wondering what sultanas have to do with anything, before he all but tunes out for the remainder of the man’s tirade), something called the Syndicate, and someone called Grace, or possibly Er Grace, Iku’to is not sure, and his mind is occupied with thoughts of what a very unusual name this is. His eyes must have glazed over at some point, because Brendt reaches over and, recalling the Miqo’te’s earlier reaction to physical contact, merely waves his splayed fingers about before his face. Iku’to starts in fright - completely without grace - and, flustered, pulls himself into an upright position (he notices that he had gone into a mild stupor, slipping into a slump on the carriage’s bench). He makes a mental note to practice looking interested, along with renewing his promise to himself that he will practice quick rearrangement of his facial features into socially acceptable expressions, lest he encounter Brendt (or anyone similar) at a later date.

After getting his attention, Brendt makes a sweeping gesture to the left, and says, with a hint of…pride, perhaps…in his voice, “Behold, Ul’dah! Jewel of Thanalan, where folk turn sand into gold!”

Iku’to absently ponders the alchemical probability of transmuting sand into gold, and decides it is likely impossible, so he wonders how Ul’dahns manage it. He is torn between questioning the Hyur man and keeping quiet, but his decision is made when Brendt hops off the end of the carriage. From this, Iku’to infers that their carriage ride has come to an end; a fact which had, until this point, escaped the notice of the young Miqo’te. Iku’to thinks he had better follow suit - lest he be transported back from whence he came along with the carriage – and does, jumping smoothly down from the carriage (the first elegant movement he has demonstrated thus far). He stretches his whole body, from his toes to the tips of his wide, feline ears to the end of his now decidedly less bristly tail. His pointed canines are revealed when he opens his mouth for a gaping, unabashed yawn (which he belatedly realises his mother would have told him to cover with his hand). Brendt, he notices, with a touch of relief, is turned away, stretching his own body back into a useful state after their long journey. He turns back, and gives Iku’to a warm smile.

“An’ here’s where we part ways, lad. I’m off to the markets to deliver me wares, then it’s onto the highroad for me. You never did tell me your name, though…” he trails off, looking uncertain. His feet shuffle in the sand. Whilst Iku'to rarely likes to give his name to anyone, he decides trusting the man (with whom he shared the experience of almost being stuck on the wrong end of a beastman’s arrow) with it may not yield any negative consequence. He swallows, gathering his courage.

“The name’s-“

“No no, I know. Here’s an idea,” interrupts Brendt, his eyes a-twinkle, “become the sort of storied personage I can brag about havin’ met, an’ I’ll consider us square.”

Iku’to wonders at this curious turn of phrase, as he can’t imagine either of them ever being square in shape. He supposes his confusion must show on his face, as Brendt chuckles and says, “It means we’ll be even, lad.” Brendt balls his left hand into a fist, and Iku’to flinches and squeezes his eyes shut – out of habit, rather than out of the belief that the man would strike him – before opening them when he feels that same fist grinding gently into the top of his head. Iku’to wonders if this is how Ul’dahns say goodbye. Not wishing to appear rude, he returns the gesture. It is not as easy as he had hoped, largely thanks to the rough material of Brendt’s turban, but Brendt just looks momentarily startled before bursting into a deep, rich laugh and walking away from the Miqo’te, waving his hand as Iku’to watches his receding back. Iku’to decides not to repeat the strange gesture he has just received, especially not on strangers.

Iku’to takes a deep breath at the same moment a flurry of sand is blown into his face. He splutters and coughs, equally glad and disappointed that someone… _anyone_ , gods, even Brendt…was not there to share with him the complete lack of dignity and potential hilarity of the moment. He finally stops coughing and straightens up. His pupils grow wide with excitement as he surveys his new surroundings. The city is not exactly beautiful, but certainly breath-taking, and different from anything he has ever seen before. He stands outside the gate leading into Ul’dah, ready to begin his new – and hopefully fruitful – life as an adventurer.


	2. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to arrives in Ul'dah, but soon realises his ignorance is going to cause him some embarrassment.

Iku’to inhales deeply (this time, he covers his mouth with the smooth side of his leather gauntlet). He is nervous: jittery and excitable. He takes a step...two…three, into the city. His ears rotate slightly as he listens – there is little of the bustle Iku’to had expected from the city, instead, at least here, it seems quiet, with only a few citizens milling about. His keen nose picks up rich scents he does not recognise – food, he thinks, and his stomach growls. It has been more than a bell or two since his last meagre meal of stale bread, which had been stashed away in the small pack attached to his belt. His tail flicks, and he looks first left, and then right, examining the scene. He is unsure how best to proceed. He is in completely foreign territory, alone – he was expecting a friendly face, a city guard perhaps, to point him on his way to the Adventurer’s Guild, but he realises this may have been a naïve thought. Suddenly, he hears someone clearing their throat loudly to his right. Iku’to assumes they are trying to get his attention (as they are the only two souls close enough to speak, although Iku’to was previously unaware of the man’s presence).

“Oi, ‘venturer! Over here!”

Iku’to twitches his ears in the direction the voice came from, his head following after. He spies a Hyur, shorter than he is, wearing loose blue trousers and a dark grey jacket, sporting various buckles Iku’to could not begin to think of a use for. He marvels at the man; even in his own fairly loose, traditional Miqo’te attire, he feels a trickle of sweat wending its way down the canal of his spine. Aside from his clothing, the man has a mop of unkempt black hair, and is wearing the most unusual glasses – round frames, in which is set two circles of dark blue glass. Iku’to tries not to gawp, and wonders if he should speak to the man or pretend he has something better to do. The man shifts slightly under his scrutiny, a little uncomfortably, Iku’to thinks.

“…Aye, I mean you.”

The man pauses, and Iku’to turns the rest of his body in the same direction his head is still facing (he does not wish to appear rude, and quite apart from that his neck muscles are beginning to ache). He is tense, unsure, but he takes an uncertain step towards the stranger.

“Fresh off the carriage, by any chance?” he tips his head slightly to the side, looking calmly at Iku’to as he awaits his response. Iku’to blinks, flustered, wondering how the man has gleaned such information. He decides the best course of action may be the most direct, and asks,

“H…how can you tell?”

He swallows, his mouth dry from his earlier lungful of sand, and attempts to relax a little.

“Name’s Wymond, an’ my business is knowin’ every bugger else’s!” the man – Wymond – crows. Iku’to feels dissatisfied, not really feeling any more enlightened, but decides to hold his tongue. He does not want to appear as a witless foreigner, even if he is one.

“That over there,” he points emphatically forwards, towards a squat, round-looking building before them, “is the ‘venturer’s Guild.”

His accent is strange to Iku’to, harsh. He has to listen carefully.

“Ye’ll want to make yer way over yonder and make yourself known to Momodi.” There is a fond look in his eye as he claps the Miqo’te on the back (Iku’to flinches, his whole body suddenly tense again, but manages to stop short of biting the man and fleeing), apparently sending him on his way.

“Th-thank you,” stammers Iku’to, stumbling a little as the toe of his boot catches on the edge of a cobblestone. He rights himself, giving his hands a cursory wipe on his vest. He wonders vaguely if coming here was the right decision after all. He already feels a little overwhelmed and lost, and he is terribly conscious that he is here _alone_. He shakes his head, gathering his courage and steeling his resolve. He mustn’t forget why he came here, he reminds himself.

Striding up the steps to the Guild, Iku’to spots a small fountain, nestled betwixt the two curved sets of steps. He pauses, squatting down at the fountain’s edge. In his cupped hands, he takes a measure of water (blissfully cold, on a scorching hot afternoon). He bends his head and first splashes his face, before taking another small measure of water and slurping it inelegantly. His scratched, parched throat is soothed by the cool liquid, and he lowers his head to take another drink from the water in his hands. He hears a guffawing noise from the direction whence he came, and, alarmed, he drops the handful of water on his boots, some splashing on the leg of his trousers. He swears under his breath as his skin prickles with the sudden cold. He stands, turning around, and sees Wymond – still leaning casually on his chosen street lamp – almost bent double with mirth, and unmistakeably looking in his direction. Iku’to feels his cheeks heat, and decides he wants to be as far away from Wymond’s sights as he can get. He tries to compose himself before attempting to enter the Adventurer’s Guild through the heavy double doors. Getting through the doors takes a considerable amount of effort, and Iku’to feels winded by the time he enters the building, wheezing slightly as he turns to close them behind him. He hears a minute, feminine cough (everyone here has must have sand in their lungs, thinks Iku’to). He is still facing the doors he has just closed, and slowly, slowly he turns around to face the room.

What greets him is a round, fairly dim room. Around the back side of the space, where he is facing, there are four wooden desks set into the stone skeleton of the building – separated into sections by pillars – and small, round stools stand by them. There are several small tables in the centre of the room, a few people occupying the chairs next to them, most with green bottles before them in varying stages of emptiness. He sees that, behind the second desk from the right, there are more bottles – these ones, full – and discerns that this must be a drinking establishment.

Iku’to has never had ‘ale’. He’s never been near the stuff, but oft his mother warned him and his siblings of how it makes men and women alike forget themselves. He thinks the yeasty, almost bready scent he detects on the air must be this ‘ale’, and wrinkles his nose.

The embarrassed Miqo’te must have made quite a spectacle, he realises with a creeping sense of dread. He feels colour rise to his cheeks anew. Although the patrons are not numerous, most of them settle a judgemental (or at least, that is Iku’to’s impression) gaze on him as he stands at the door, red-faced and chest still heaving. Iku’to wishes, fleetingly, that he had never been born; and seriously considers the benefits of bolting out of the heavy door and mounting the carriage home, or perhaps borrowing a chocobo to ride if that would get him out of here more swiftly.

His panicked thoughts are interrupted somewhat by the same, small cough that he heard previously. He realises he has been staring at the owner of the cough unwittingly. Another Lalafell (a woman) – how old, Iku’to couldn’t even begin to guess – her hair auburn, pulled into two round buns and adorned with various braids and jewels. She is learning forward on her desk, one arm holding her weight as her chin rests in her hand. She looks rumpled, almost as if Iku’to has disturbed her from an intimate embrace with her desk. She yawns, confirming the fact, and beckons Iku’to forward with one tiny finger. He is apprehensive, and for reasons best known to himself (although even he is unsure of the reasons behind this action), he points a finger to his face in confusion. The woman rolls her reddish-brown eyes further than Iku’to thought was polite, or even anatomically possible, and nods. Iku’to looks sheepish and walks up to the desk. He notices, to his relief, that most of the gawping patrons have returned to nursing their bottles.

He opens his mouth; perhaps to apologise, perhaps to explain his predicament, but the Lalafell instantly becomes animated before his eyes (not before giving him a quick look up and down, he notes). She is almost at eye level with him, from which Iku’to deduces she must be standing on a rather tall box. She must only be approximately (and likely less than) three fulms tall, Iku’to himself measuring close to six. From such a small body, comes a surprisingly loud voice, with a coarse Ul’dahn accent to boot.

“Why hello there! Who might _you_ be? Name’s Momodi, and I own this fine establishment, if it please you. I also manage the Adventurer’s Guild here in Ul’dah.”

Iku’to’s ears wriggle with glee. He has finally found the place, and the person, he has been seeking. He tries to keep a dopey expression from his features as his entire body finally relaxes.

“So, you could say that lookin’ after green adventurers like yourself is my vocation.”

She continues speaking, scarcely giving Iku’to a chance to register what she is saying. His comprehension is not aided by his confusion at another odd turn of phrase. His eyes flick downwards to observe himself – no, he is definitely, _decidedly_ not green. He lets this slide for now, but decides that he will have to find some kind soul willing to decipher the strange, figurative language for him (after all, the Keepers of the Moon tend to speak plain). Momodi continues chattering excitedly, explaining various facts about Ul’dah to Iku’to. He half-listens, catching the words “Amalj’aa” and “Garleans”. He hears a sigh, and ceases examining the front of his vest (he had possibly been hoping to find answers to his numerous questions hidden therein). He raises his eyes and re-establishes eye contact with the tiny woman. She looks solemn.

“It’s scarce been five years since the lesser moon cracked open like a giant egg, releasin’ an abominaton intent on turnin’ the realm into an eighth hell…” she appears to be drawing circles on the book in front of her with her index fingertip, “so much was lost in the blink of an eye. ‘Twas like the end of the world had come at last,” she sighs again, continuing to run her digit over the page in a repetitive motion. It catches Iku’to’s eye once or twice and he finds himself following the path of her finger. “But then things begin to get foggy…everyone’s got their own versions of what happened next.”

She looks up, and seems startled to discover that Iku’to is staring at her, rapt, willing her to continue her tale. She looks down again, quickly.

“You’d think that people would remember somethin’ like that – but the fact is, they don’t. Nobody does.”

She seems reluctant to continue, but out of the corner of her eye, she glimpses Iku’to’s tail flicking back and forth, impatient.

“There’s one thing the survivors do agree on, though: the part played by a band of adventurers,” (Iku’to’s ears prick up again at the word,) “who laid down their lives for a realm that wasn’t their own.” She takes a deep breath, and Iku’to spots a drop of moisture gathering in the corner of her eye, catching the light, but he decides not to draw attention to the matter.

“They fought valiantly,” she goes on, her voice hitching just the slightest bit, “and like so many others, they never returned. Deeds worth rememberin’, I’m sure you’ll agree. It’s just a shame our recollections of those brave heroes are as jumbled as those of the Calamity itself.”

This reminds Iku'to of a story, a cautionary tale, he had overheard his mother telling his siblings. The lesser moon Dalamud had been acting strangely, drawing closer and closer to a nameless realm, bringing chaos even before the elder Primal Bahamut was released from its confines. The dragon wreaked havoc on the area. Brave heroes had sacrificed their own lives to save this torn realm. Iku’to wants to believe the story he knew as a fairy tale almost perfectly parallels the event known throughout Eorzea as the Calamity through simple coincidence, but now he is unsure. He wades out of his own train of thought as he realises Momodi is still talking. His tail stills. He does not want to appear disrespectful of Momodi when she is regaling him with such an important tale.

“Even if we can’t remember them, we’ll not let ‘em be forgotten – and so we call ‘em the Warriors of Light,” Iku’to’s heart skips a beat. He knows it is foolish, perhaps even suicidal to aspire to anything close to the heroic deeds of the storied adventurers, but he can’t help wondering if it could be possible even so, “and they’ll forever stand as a shinin’ example of what adventurers can achieve. That’s why I welcome new arrivals like yourself to our fair city.”

She pauses. Iku’to is disinclined, from his experiences thus far, to agree with the sentiment that Ul’dah is ‘fair’ – except, perhaps, in weather.

“I’ll be happy to let you join the guild,” she went on, “all I ask if that you lend a helpin’ hand.”

Disbelief crosses the Miqo’te’s features. Surely the grand deeds and heroic exploits he might involve himself in require more than a simple signature and menial chores, he thinks. A test of strength, of wit, or magick prowess? His tail resumes its impatient flicking.

“A happy and prosperous Ul’dah means more business for the Quicksand, too!” says Momodi, wearing an impish grin. Iku’to is momentarily puzzled, but glances up, and realises there are plaques in various places around the room bearing the name “The Quicksand”, and curses silently as he realises his less-than-ideal entrance into the room had been the cause for his lack of observation.

“Anyroad, let’s make this official,” She hands him a quill, long and fine. “Go ahead and write your name in the register.”

He takes the quill, full glad his sisters had thought to teach him to write his own name, even if it is as a spider’s scrawl. Momodi retrieves her quill from his grasp when he has finished scribbling, and squints at the page, trying to read his name.

“Ik…Iku’to…Vineyoda?” she attempts, glancing up to see Iku’to’s shaking head. She tries again. “Iku’to Vhin….Vhinyota?” She looks up again, and this time Iku’to is affording her a small, satisfied nod. He adds writing to the ever-lengthening list of things he must needs practice whilst he is in the city. Momodi claps her hands. “Well, ain’t that a charmin’ name! All right – on behalf of the Adventurer’s Guild, I officially-“

“Please, sir! Twelve as my witness, I swear, I’ll bring you your money!”

Iku’to wheels around at the outburst, and sees a Lalafell (in rich, deep purple garb, wearing a darkened monocle) standing over a Hyur man, who has fallen and is sprawling on the floor. The Lalafell man is flanked by what Iku’to can only imagine are bodyguards. He harrumphs, a malicious smile spreading slowly, languidly, across his small features.

“Be grateful you were given a fourth chance to offend. You two,” he crosses his arms, looking at each of the silent individuals at his flanks in turn, “attend to this scum.”

The tiny man turns his back. The sight of his evil grin is burned onto the back of Iku’to’s eyelids. Iku’to regards the scene in horror as the bodyguards ‘attend to’ the unfortunate Hyur. He is reluctant to have his freshly-begun career as an adventurer cut short by two thugs beating him to a lifeless state, but nor does he wish to watch the poor man suffer the same fate. He is about to stir himself into action when he realises Momodi is speaking to him again. He turns to face her.

“Well, ain’t that a sorry sight.”

She tuts, shaking her head. “Not an uncommon one, if I’m honest. Don’t worry, though – if you work hard, I doubt you’ll end up like him.”

She inclines her head towards the Hyur (now thoroughly beaten, but gladly, thinks Iku’to, alive). His ears droop slightly as he realises that Momodi assumes his worry was for himself. He wonders if everyone here would be so selfish. Not for the first time, he considers that he may not want to be a part of this place at all. But, again, he remembers why he came, what he is hoping to achieve, and he grits his teeth, as if to bite back the uncertainty. As is his habit, he has again retreated into his own mind, and notices, upon reaching a lull in his train of thought, and with considerable alarm, that Momodi’s mouth is moving at a rapid pace. He sighs inwardly and turns his attention back to her.

“…so what I’d like you to do first is visit the Aetheryte Plaza.”

She gives Iku’to directions he hopes he does not forget.

“You can’t miss it. There’s a giant, floating crystal. It makes travellin’ around Eorzea a damn sight less troublesome than it would be otherwise. ‘Course,” she says, raising her eyebrows, “you still need to attune with ‘em before you can use ‘em. Just lay your hand on the thing. You’ll see what I mean.”

She scans Iku’to. Her eyes rest, not for the first time, on the short, functional sceptre Iku’to carries. He is no mage, but he has an affinity with magick which earned him practical isolation from much of his family and the tribe. His mother always blamed his absent (or dead, Iku'to is unsure) father for his ‘freakish’ and ‘unnatural’ gift and appearance. Iku’to tries to squash these memories out of his mind.

“After that,” Momodi presses on, “how about you pay a visit to the Thaumaturge’s Guild?”

The hair on Iku’to’s tail stands up ever so slightly. Him, a _thaumaturge_? A wielder of powerful magicks, capable of decimating any foes? The red-eyed, red-haired freak of a bastard son of his large, distant family? He practically trembles with excitement, and his ears _do_ tremble. He scarcely dares to believe that he could finally, _finally_ train his use of magicks. The city might make an adventurer of this young man yet, he thinks to himself, ears still quivering and eyes shining. He realises Momodi is talking, saying something about the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, but his brain is abuzz with too much feverish excitement to take much notice. Momodi regards his obvious (though Iku’to thinks he is doing quite well at hiding it: he is wrong) agitation with some amusement. She slides a letter across the desk, attempting to fit it in the space under his hand, but she does not wish to bend it so she settles for sliding it back and forth, gently bumping his fingers with the thing. Iku’to feels a slight pressure on his fingertips, and automatically lifts his hand up. She is still trying to push the letter at Iku’to, and the momentum sends her top half sliding forward slightly on the desk. She makes a quiet ‘oomph’ noise, and shoots Iku’to a withering glance before straightening, brushing off her tunic, giving another of her minute coughs, and plucking the letter off the surface, handing it to him thereafter.

“Find a gentleman named Seseroga and give this to him,” she instructs, “he’ll be happy to tell you about the markets once he’s read it.”

She continues, making a brief (scripted? Iku’to wonders) speech about showing willing and helping the citizens. He stifles a small yawn and shuffles his feet, now impatient again. Momodi seems to notice his fidgeting and cocks an eyebrow (it disappears under her hair).

“Let me know when you’ve finished, will you? That way, I won’t spend my days worryin’ that you’re down to your smallclothes,” Iku’to startles, clearly distressed at the thought, and Momodi chuckles, “without a gil to your name.”

She rests her elbow on the desk, and her chin in her tiny hand, emulating the position Iku’to thinks she had been sleeping in when he barged in.

“Go on then, _Master_ Vhinyota.”

She winks. Iku’to needs to use every ounce of mental strength he possesses not to skip out of the building with zeal. His dark tail-tip flicks…left, right, left, right…at a rapid pace. He starts to take a deep, cleansing breath of Ul’dahn air but checks himself, recalling just in time the misfortune that befell him the last time he attempted the action. He settles for another stretch, walking down the stone steps and heading in the direction he thinks Momodi told him to go to reach the Aetheryte Plaza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I attempted to breathe some life into the NPCs in this chapter. In a game, the risk of having NPCs be 'someone to click on to hand in a quest' is high - I don't want this to come across in writing, so a lot of superfluous, 'unimportant' content was added to make the whole thing feel more alive. I hope.
> 
> Although Iku'to owning a sceptre looks quite 'convenient', I wanted to try and make it so he has some connection to his father through it - though it's not direct. His father left an ornate bone staff when he left, which his mother kept, but always refused to give it to Iku'to (she didn't want to encourage his 'talents') but he soon learned that he could use straight sticks as a sort of sceptre and practiced some conjury anyway - this came in helpful when he was split from his family. On his way to Ul'dah, he actually whiles away some of the long journey by carving himself a sceptre - he doesn't wish to use the sceptre he stole from his mother (that had been his father's, of course) because he feels it would bind him to the man - and he has never met him, so there's no love lost between the two. So instead he fashions a crude instrument which he uses until the guild funishes him with something better, though he does keep his father's as a connection to his past and I might have him use it later in the story. We'll see!
> 
> As always, please remember that the NPC dialogue is not of my own creation - everything else, save for the events themselves - is (including everything Iku'to does, feels, thinks, and says), such as descriptions, NPC movements, etc.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	3. Wymond's Errand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to spots a face he has no desire to see again so quickly following the first time he saw it.

Iku’to walks for a while, taking in all of the sights, sounds and smells he encounters. He passes, and hears thumping noises (practice, he thinks) from, the Pugilist’s Guild. The Pugilists, he thinks he remembers reading, use a loose, mobile fighting stance, and use fist weapons known as hora. They fight in close combat, and so, Iku’to reckons, it is not unreasonable that such sounds might occur as the guild’s members practice their sparring.

Along the wide road, at intervals, lie large, stone structures. The sides of them are fashioned into benches, and the middles hollow – and filled with various desert flora. Though the plants are unfamiliar to the young Miqo’te, he is still delighted to discover something that is somewhat familiar to him. The scent of these boxes is pleasant; earthy, and it reminds Iku’to of the forests he grew up in. His ears twitch involuntarily at his moment of pleasurable familiarity. He sees that, upon looking around, on either end of these boxes are lamp posts. It is upon one of these lamp posts that, Iku’to has noticed with horror, his pleasant mood suddenly retreating, none other than Wymond is leaning. Mercifully, he appears to be facing the other way. Iku’to has no quarrel with the man, but does not wish to be reminded of his earlier embarrassment at the fountain. He finds that his feet are reluctant to move forward, and considers his options, trying not to look as if he is loitering. He wonders if there is a path he can take which would bypass the Hyur, but this part of the city (to Iku’to’s intense disappointment) seems devoid of alleyways, or any other feature which may allow him to divert himself from his current trajectory. Iku’to sucks his teeth, torn between leaving and trying again later (though this would further delay the _official_ start of his adventuring career) and relying on luck to slip past Wymond (he wishes to maintain _some_ sense of dignity as an adventurer, even if it is but a façade). His ears and tail droop in dejection as he realises his only real option is to pass by the man. He notices his palms have become considerably sweaty at his anxiety, and he wipes them on his shirt before striding purposefully forward, willing the Twelve to grant him some good fortune. To his dismay, he hears a familiar voice.

“So, how’re you takin’ to Ul’dah, Iku’to?”

Iku’to supposes either Wymond has spoken to Momodi in the short time after he left the guild, or he has been a victim of Wymond’s ‘business to know every bugger else’s’ (Iku’to recalls how the man stated this so proudly). He is certain he did not disclose his name to the Hyur. He feels a flash of irritation, but reminds himself that Wymond is the only soul (apart from Momodi) he yet knows.

“Make any new friends in high places yet? Hah!” he jibes, emitting a loud, raucous laugh and slapping his thigh. Iku’to sees a tear of mirth gathering in the man’s eye as he continues to chuckle loudly. Wymond must think his own joke very witty, thinks Iku’to. He regards the laughing Hyur mildly, knowing full well that Wymond is as aware as he is that they first spoke only a short time (merely a bell, or even less) ago. He regains his composure after a short while, and resumes his usual casual leaning against the lamp post.

“Mayhap you can do me a favour an’ take this missive to Josias at the Platinum Mirage,” he is saying, “it’s just over yonder, an’ the man’ll even give you some gil for your trouble.”

Iku’to wonders why Wymond does not deliver the letter himself, but the mention of gil is enough for him to keep his mouth shut, and nod, accepting the task. After all, he needs coin – a place to sleep and food to fill his hungry belly will not come free of charge. Wymond holds the letter out to him, and he takes it, storing it in the small leather bag at his waist. He thanks him, and Iku’to turns the way Wymond has pointed him. He notices the destination he has set off for is within the walls of the Pugilist’s Guild, which he passed a little earlier. Recalling the thumping noises he heard, he hopes nervously that the members do not wish to use him as target practice. Though Miqo’te all have strong leg muscles, being a Moon Keeper means his senses are keener than his Sun Seeker brethren, but his ability to run pales in comparison to theirs. As such, he does not like his chances of escaping an onslaught. He tries to push such thoughts out of his mind before pressing on towards the Guild. He reaches the door, and with some chagrin realises it is the same kind of heavy door he so struggled with at The Quicksand. He could become, he muses, as strong as an aurochs (beastkin of burden that he has only heard of) simply by using these doors. He allows himself a small grimace before pushing into the Guild hall. Iku’to’s suspicions are confirmed as he is confronted with several trainee Pugilists, sparring on the mat before him.

“Do you have business with the Platinum Mirage this afternoon?” he hears, turning on his heel to see a Hyur – dark skinned, dressed in a loose green shirt and a green turban – looking bored behind a low counter.

“Ah…I would speak with a man by the name of Josias. I bear a missive from Wymond,” he gestures, somewhat awkwardly, towards the door. The man behind the counter raises his eyebrows.

“Aye, that’s me,” Josias says, looking expectantly at Iku’to. Iku’to realises, flustered, that he is standing there as if waiting for the letter to fly into the man’s hand of its own accord, and buries his hand in his bag, producing the letter (mercifully, it remains un-crumpled) after a little searching around amongst his meagre possessions.

“Alright then, let’s have a look…” the man’s eyes wander over the page, and he sighs deeply. Iku’to looks at him quizzically, and wonders if he should enquire as to the man’s apparent distress. Josias looks up, and, seeming to detect the Miqo’te’s curiosity, slides the letter towards Iku’to, pointing to a scrawl on the page.

“You can read?” he asks, and Iku’to nods. The text looks hastily written, and there are ink splatters on the parchment, but it is legible enough. It reads: Bird is barren. Let the hounds feast. Iku’to’s ears flatten a little in alarm. He looks up at the Hyur, dearly hoping that none of these ‘hounds’ will be unleashed whilst he is in the vicinity. Josias shrugs.

“So it goes. The guild is often contracted to provide protective services. Unfortunately for this particular petitioner, Wymond’s investigation has found his finances to be…wanting,” he says by way of explanation. Iku’to cocks his head, and wonders if the man might offer him another errand to undertake. Instead, Josias opens a small drawer in the counter in front of him and rummages around for a moment before producing a small coin. He waves this in Iku’to’s general direction, and Iku’to holds out his hand. The coin makes a dull noise as Josias drops it into Iku’to’s outstretched palm, and it lands on the soft leather of his gauntlet. He picks it up carefully with his other hand, that he might examine it. He holds it up in front of his eyes, rotating it this way and that so that it catches the light, a look of wonderment on his face. Although Iku’to has encountered coin before – after all, he and his younger sisters worked week upon week to gather enough meats and herbs to exchange for the gil that would eventually buy him a carriage ride to Ul’dah – he feels a sort of childish joy upon actually having the opportunity to _own_ it.

Largely, the Keepers of the Moon trade in meat, skins, and herbs: anything practical. Some even create poultices, remedies for mild ailments, which they trade for food or materials. Recalling this, Iku’to’s fascination with the very idea of money has been renewed. He wonders anew how something so innocuous and apparently worthless (in and of itself) acts as a substitute for material goods when trading, a currency. His reverie is interrupted by a curt cough. His eyes dart upwards, and Josias makes eye contact with him, before nodding to an area behind Iku’to. Iku’to turns his head, and beholds a tall, Elezen man standing behind him – waiting to speak with Josias, he supposes – and utters a hasty apology before hurrying from the premises, placing the object of his passionate daydreaming into his coin purse - he had fashioned this for himself a moon or so beforehand, preparing for such a situation.

Once outside, he pauses to stand on the threshhold of the guild. He glances up at the beaming sun, surprised to find that he is glad that the cold nights come late here. Though he is nocturnal, since he left his community he has been spending more and more time in the daylight. He has found that, thus far, due to the fact that most others choose to _sleep_ during the night hours, he has a lot more success completing his tasks in the day-time. He runs his hand through his slightly unkempt red hair. The exchange with Josias causes him to vow never to get on the wrong side of Wymond’s investigations. The man might well be harmless, but he seems able to discover any information he chooses about anyone he wishes to know about. Iku’to lets out a long breath through his nose, and, although his stomach gives a loud rumble, he decides to continue on to his original destination – the Aetheryte Plaza – before parting with any of his newly-earned gil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original plan was to also write side quests I found interesting, to flesh things out, but I realised the story doesn't NEED the superfluous content as padding. At a later date, I may consider doing more of these little excerpts from side quest lines for fun, and for light relief (my intention was to have them be more comedy/fun focused). This was my 'trial run', and I don't have the heart to delete it - I think it's quite fun and cute, and Iku'to gets his first reward!
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	4. Attunement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to has a very unpleasant experience at the Aetheryte Plaza.

After a small distraction, Iku’to finally arrives at the Aetheryte Plaza. Momodi is right, he thinks: you cannot miss the thing. The crystal dominating the centre of the room is _huge_ – so much so, that the height of it exceeds the height of the building. Rather, the ceiling appears to be built to accommodate the floating crystal, a hole in its centre. Iku’to wonders what happens if it rains, and decides that he will endeavour not to find out first hand - although he likes the rain, he cannot imagine aetheryte travel is comfortable whilst wet. Recalling what Momodi told him about attuning to the crystal, Iku’to approaches. It gives off a gentle, blue glow, and Iku’to gives his clammy fingers a wipe on his vest before reaching up towards it with his hand outstretched. The crystal is floating at around head height to the Miqo’te, so he has to stand on his tiptoes to comfortably reach it. He can feel a strange, almost animal warmth emanating from the crystal’s surface, which he thinks is most curious. He expected the thing to be cold.

His hand alights on the crystal, and the energies of it all but attach his hand there - he thinks the strange, thrumming vibrations he can feel through his gauntlet are akin to a _pulse_. Suddenly uncomfortable, and a little scared, Iku’to tries to free his hand from the crystal’s surface, but is unable. The pulsing warmth is spreading from his palm, down his arm, and into his whole body. He can _feel_ the crystal’s aether, and it is all but flowing into him. He realises he is touching something which is practically alive. His body responds to the crystal; his heart slows, matching the rhythm he can still feel through his palm - he feels light-headed, breathless (in fact, he gasps desperately as he realises he has forgotten to breathe), he feels a strength that is not his own coursing through his body. But then, as quickly and intensely as the sensation enters his body, it leaves with the same haste, leaving Iku’to shaking, still gasping for air, with his hand pressed to the surface of the crystal. He snatches his hand away, practically scrambling from the thing, backwards. His heel collides with a step he was too panicked to notice, and he lands on his backside, hard. He stays there, sprawled inelegantly, panting and frightened, unsure what exactly he just experienced. After a short while, he smothers his panic to the extent he can stand again – and he does, although his knees still quiver – and he rubs the seat of his trousers where he fell. The very last thing Iku’to needs at this moment is company.

“Hail, adventurer!”

Iku’to jumps, his ears lying flat to his skull and his tail bristling. He curses his luck, not for the first time since his journey began.

“Might you have come at the behest of Miss” Iku’to notes the polite title with a little bemusement, “Momodi?”

Iku’to turns around to face the speaker, only to be confronted with…nothing. Almost on instinct, he lowers his line of sight a few fulms. His sights rest on a Lalafell man, wearing the Brass Blades’ chosen attire. He greets the man, and answers his question simultaneously, with a nod.

“Excellent. The name’s Nenebaru. That brings us to the attunement fee – that will be one hundred thousand gil, if you please, sir,” he says, with a deadpan expression.

Iku’to cannot help it. He staggers backwards, his bottom greeting the stone step once again. His already declining mood is getting more sour by the second. Air hisses through his teeth, and it’s all he can do not to snarl at the man. He stares at the floor, aghast, wishing it would open into a yawning chasm he might disappear into.

“B-but…” he splutters, head reeling. Momodi certainly had not warned him of _this_. In his shock, his already bristly tail has shot up, poker straight - and there it remains, like a strange, furry standard. He looks up, realising the floor will not grant him his dearest wish and swallow him whole.

To his shock and confusion, Nenebaru is bent double before him, his whole body shaking. Iku’to, in a moment of madness, feels mild concern for Nenebaru, lest he be having trouble breathing – but he soon sees the tears of jollity as the Lalafell is overcome by his silent fit of laughter. Iku’to has the sinking feeling that he has just become the butt of a joke, and he feels colour rise to his face. His suspicions are confirmed when the man finally gathers himself, and straightens his mask as he stands up again.

“Apologies. But I do so relish the opportunity to make that jest. The look on your face was absolutely priceless!” he guffaws. Iku’to feels a muscle in his cheek twitch as he tries to resist the urge to poke the man in the eye with his sceptre. The patience he so prides himself on is being sorely tested.

“…ahem. The fact that you were so easily deceived suggests to me that you are unfamiliar with the use of aetherytes. Allow me to explain,” he says. Iku’to does not think he has much choice _but_ to allow Nenebaru to explain (quite apart from the fact that Iku’to is still spread upon the stone floor, and thus cannot escape, the small man has already started to explain) so he attempts to make himself a bit more comfortable. He cannot, so instead he settles for shuffling around, the better to see Nenebaru. The man in question has his neck craned comically upward, attempting to regard the crystal as he explains aetheryte travel, and suggests that it would be prudent for Iku’to to attune to any he might encounter in future. Iku’to is not inclined to agree with the sentiment, as he has no desire to experience the bizarre feeling of attunement again for as long as he lives. But, he reasons, his life may be a good deal longer if he does not have to _walk_ everywhere.

“…and that’s that!” finishes Nenebaru, stifling another laugh when his eye contact with Iku’to is renewed. Iku’to feels like telling the man to paint a picture of the face he made, lest he forget to laugh about it at another opportune moment. He does not say this. The Lalafell holds out a tiny hand, and while Iku’to is reluctant to willingly accept the contact, as ever, he does not wish to appear rude (though in this case he wonders whether it is worth the effort, as the man has already humiliated him). He takes the proffered hand to the best of his ability (with the size difference, this is difficult), and Nenebaru helps Iku’to up with an awkward upward motion. Iku’to thinks it may have been easier to return to an upright position _without_ the man’s help, but he does not say so. The Lalafell about-turns, marching away. Iku’to observes that he clutches his sides as he reaches the entrance to the Plaza, and he vows never to be taken in by such a joke again as long as he lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea what attunement is supposed to feel like, but as aether is the life-force of Hydaelyn, I figured that attuning the body to its energies would be a somewhat bizarre, intrusive experience.
> 
> Nenebaru is such a troll.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	5. Thaumaturgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to experiences something which is in equal parts frustrating and exciting.

A short while later, Iku’to has managed to convince himself to leave the Aetheryte Plaza and now he trudges, deflated, towards the Thaumaturge’s Guild. The spring is all but gone from his step, and he groans as memories of his previous encounter invite themselves into his mind, reminding him of his overreaction and the fact that he had twice been sprawled on the floor like a drunkard (or, at least, that is how he imagines a drunkard would sprawl). He climbs the small flight of steps up to the entrance to the Thaumaturge’s Guild, and allows himself a small measure of joy that the door is not the same, heavy, double doors he has encountered thus far – instead, it is a much smaller, single door, and his passion begins to resurface as he opens the door without expending _half_ the effort the other doors required of him.

His heart flutters as he steps inside, and his gaze sweeps over the dim room. It is large compared to, say, the Pugilist’s Guild, and smells of old parchment and torch-smoke. There are several rotund pillars throughout the space, and Iku’to notes the bookcases set into the wall (full of tomes, to his delight). There appears to be another area at the back side of the room, but his view is obscured by the aforementioned pillars. He looks to his right, and spots the counter. From previous experience, he guesses this is where he must go to seek Yayake, the receptionist Momodi recommended he speak to. His eyes slide upward, and he makes a strange, strangled noise (it is a squeak of fright, which he tries to disguise as a cough, to a moderate degree of success) as they rest on a man (Hyur, he thinks) clad in a dark, woollen robe, a hood obscuring most of his features. Next to the man is a Lalafell woman, her hair a shade of light pink – a small lock of which is secured on the top of her head. Iku’to realises, with dismay, that this makes her look like an apple, and tries not to stare. He gravitates instinctively toward the robed figure, who gives a quick shake of the head, before gesturing towards the Lalafell. Iku’to’s heart sinks, and he wonders how he might distract his attention from the stalk – nay, the _tuft_ , he corrects himself – on the top of her head. He clears his throat.

“I would speak with a Yayake, if you please” he states, ever polite (when he is able). He lets his eyes lose focus as he stares intently at a spot next to the woman’s hand. He thinks she looks up, but his efforts not to look directly at her are not in vain.

“You are,” she says, trying to catch the Miqo’te’s eye but quickly giving up the endeavour, “welcome to the Thaumaturge’s Guild.”

Iku’to fidgets anxiously with the ties on his pack. He blinks to refocus his eyes, looking down to ensure it is closed. He notices, with no small degree of mortification, that two buttons on his white shirt are separated from their buttonholes (likely they opened in protest on one of the two occasions he found his backside getting cosy with the floor at the Plaza). This gives anyone who cares to look close enough a decent eyeful of his stomach and belly-button. He fumbles at the buttons, one-handed, trying to close them without attracting attention to his predicament. He fails. He decides, rather than leaving himself thus exposed, the lesser evil is to risk embarrassment (to which he is no stranger) and simply close his shirt. Swiftly he does so, with the help of his other hand. He hears something which sounds like a snort from the depths of the woollen hood, but he chooses to pretend that he has not heard. All the while, the apple – _Lalafell_ , he rights himself again – has been reeling off a speech (definitely scripted, thinks Iku’to) about the history of Thaumaturgy, fate and all manner of things beside. Iku’to is only half interested, and feels impatience rising as he awaits his enrolment and subsequent training. His tail flicks. Yayake finishes her lines, and fixes a steely glare on Iku’to (who finally risks looking at her proper, telling himself not to be so juvenile).

“Well, adventurer? Will you join our guild, or do you presume to ignore the urgings of impatient destiny?”

Iku’to blinks again, a little startled as the conversation is suddenly turned to him. Nervously, he licks his lips. Yayake and the hooded man (from what he can tell, at any rate) appear to be eyeing his sceptre.

“I-I’d like to join-“ he manages, before Yayake interrupts him.

“A wise decision indeed,” she says, a little too fast, betraying her excitement as the guild welcomes a new recruit, “to prepare for your initiation, I would have you study the volumes of fundamental thaumaturgical principal,” (Iku’to thinks this sounds exceedingly tedious, but he supposes needs must), “all one hundred and eight of them.”

Iku’to’s jaw goes slack. He struggles to regain his composure as the implications of the woman’s utterance become all too clear. He wonders if he has misheard.

“P…pardon?!” he practically spits the word out, and indeed, a small drop of spittle liberates itself from his mouth and makes towards the desk’s surface. All involved parties notice, (Iku’to observes, with horror, Yayake’s eyes following its trajectory) but to Iku’to’s relief, none elect to pass comment. Yayake shrugs.

“…or at least, I would if such requirements had not been abolished.” She sighs wistfully, drawing circles on the wood of the counter in a similar motion he had observed of Momodi earlier. Iku’to is alarmed that his earlier vow not to submit to any more jokes at his expense has so quickly been broken.

Yayake seems momentarily lost in reverie, thinking of times past. She gives a small shake of her head, appearing to rouse herself. She directs Iku’to towards the back of the room, to speak with a man named ‘Cocobygo’. He nods his thanks, still feeling dazed, before making his way through the room. The space he arrives in is quite different from the entrance to the guild hall. It is dimly-lit, with many candles and torches adorning the walls, floors and other surfaces. There is, set into the floor in the centre, a large, wooden circle. Near the back of the room squats a wooden structure, not unlike a desk – there are tomes strewn across the surface, and a Lalafell clad in a black robe, black boots and a red hood (custom-made to accommodate the long, pointy ears, Iku’to thinks) perches neatly on the edge, his legs dangling. He notices, with some discomfort, that three faces similar to the first have turned to regard him, and it rather reminds Iku’to of the way a butcher sizes up a slab of meat. Iku’to finds himself, once again, resisting the urge to bite the nearest person and flee. The leftmost Lalafell, standing beneath a torch affixed to the desk, suddenly pipes up.

“Look at that expectant face, Cocobygo!” the speaker looks at the man standing to his right. Iku’to thinks his expression is anything but expectant – indeed, he feels it is more akin to terrified - but he lets this slide, “the gentleman is obviously a new applicant for the guild, seeking an audience with our elder brother.”

Iku’to is sure he heard the name ‘Cocobygo’ uttered – unless his hearing is ailing, which he does not think it is – so he is puzzled by the declaration that the one he seeks is not currently present.

“Yayake instructed me to seek a Cocobygo-“ he begins, but is interrupted (this occurrence is becoming far too common for Iku’to’s tastes) by the Lalafell sitting on the desk.

“Oh, Prelate Yayake…she can recite the three hundred and seven verses of the _Funerary Rites for the Virtuous Fallen_ from memory, but the simple task of keeping our names straight seems beyond her grasp.” He sighs sadly, and rests his cheek on his hand.

Iku’to does not hide his quiet growl of frustration. It is becoming a very long, very trying afternoon, and he appears to be getting precisely nowhere with the thaumaturges. The rightmost Lalafell bursts into laughter.

“I, for one find the constant confusion endlessly entertaining!”

Iku’to sets a withering glare on the man, willing the laughter to die in his throat, possibly choking him for good measure. He has no intention of becoming the butt of yet another joke. The man chuckles good-naturedly.

“My apologies, good sir,” he continues, a twinkle in his eye, “my merriment was not meant to mock your mistake. It is our sibling _Cocobuki_ with whom you should speak.”

Iku’to quickly retracts his previous sentiment about the man, and his alliterative apology leaves Iku’to with little choice but to accept it. Another Lalafell strides into view, dressed all in black. His face is covered, almost completely, by a bandage in the shape of a cross – save for his left eye.

“What’s this, what’s this?” he says, circling Iku’to, “Great Thal has led to us a new aspirant?”

Iku’to recalls, in the brief study he managed before his departure for Ul’dah, reading about the guardian deity of Ul’dah; Nald’Thal, the Traders, god of commerce and guardian of the underworld. Ul’dahns oft split the two, talking of Nald and Thal. He is rather pleased with himself for absorbing this information, and his ears give a wiggle. Cocobuki pretends not to notice, and presses on, speaking of the merits and dangers likely faced by those pursuing thaumaturgy. Iku’to follows the speech to the best of his ability, the guild master speaking of power unparalleled, along with a passing mention of terrible and deadly trials. Iku’to decides to ignore the latter.

“I ask you now, aspirant: are you prepared to leap into the abyss in pursuit of power unparalleled?”

This is what Iku'to has been waiting for since speaking to Momodi. His whole being buzzes with barely-contained elation, as the path to the power he seeks seems to appear before him. His chief desire to prove himself to his clanmates, his mother and sisters, is the main cause of his decision to undertake this journey. He does not realise it yet, but hand-in-hand with this is a desire - nay, a _need -_ to prove his worth to himself, too. Iku'to relishes the chance that is being presented to him. As it stands now, the flames he can conjure do not exceed approximately the size of his fingertip – less than an ilm – and although he has a personal preference for fire magick, the ice he can create is often a little more impressive. Even so, it is hardly the magick befitting a heroic adventurer. He wonders what strength he might gain under the guidance of the five brothers. He hesitates only for a moment before nodding his head repeatedly, in a slightly manic fashion. Cocobuki appears pleased with this development, rubbing his gloved hands together and giving a funny laugh, which sounds to Iku’to like ‘hm hm hm’.

“A confident response. Your name, if you will?”

Again, Iku’to does not hesitate.

“Iku’to. Iku’to Vhinyota,” he says, feeling breathless.

“Very well, Iku’to, let us mark your initiation with a trial to test the limits of your aptitude for channelling thaumaturgy. Huge hornets, star marmots and snapping shrews inhabit this land in abundance. Exercise your sorcerous might by slaying a number of each before returning to my side,” instructs Cocobuki.

Iku’to balks. This request was not what he had anticipated. He wonders if they expect him to beat the poor creatures to death with his sceptre. Cocobygo must notice his agitation, and quietly beckons him to the side. Briefly, he explains – and demonstrates – the best stance to adopt whilst casting each type of magick, and suggests that Iku’to might first attempt to master the manifestation of ice.

“Very slightly less dangerous,” he says, winking conspiratorially and tapping the side of his nose. Iku’to laughs involuntarily – a sound practically alien to his own ears – and realises with some amazement that he is genuinely _smiling_. The Lalafell’s good humour must be infectious, he decides. After his short tuition with Cocobygo, Iku’to bids the five brothers farewell, then bids the hooded man and the apple – _Yayake_ , he reminds himself – farewell as he prepares to shoulder his way out of the door. The excitement Iku’to feels all but leaks from his pores as he makes his way out of the Thaumaturge’s Guild, deciding to complete Momodi's tasks before heading out to slay the beastkin set by Cocobuki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I suck at naming chapters, I'm so sorry. Decided to keep Erasmus (the dude who stands next to Yayake) anonymous as I won't be writing his quests, has an Urianger-type feel about him I guess, all mysterious and stuff, but he is less serene. Every time I see that hairstyle on a Lalafell I can't help but think of them as an apple, so that is a form of projection of my own feelings onto poor Iku'to (but I hope it provides some amusement).
> 
> Iku'to's first genuine smile of the story at the end of the chapter might seem premature, but I don't want to spend 20 odd chapters without the poor guy smiling at anyone. He is learning as he goes (much as I am whilst writing this), so don't go thinking chapter 1 was the last of his awkward grimaces. In this case, it's more that his emotions don't have an outlet, so his face automatically assumes the position. I think this is a real thing. But regardless. That was my intention.
> 
> Also taking creative liberties with the door to the Guild, I don't remember what kind of door it is (who would?), but I suspect it is the same doors as everywhere else in Ul'dah. For poor Iku'to's sanity, in this story, it is not.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	6. Seseroga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to meets a rather unpleasant individual.

Iku’to, practically floating, sets off in search of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange after leaving the Thaumaturge’s Guild. Although he is eager to begin his training as a thaumaturge, Momodi’s request that he return to her as soon as he is able crosses his mind again, and he quickens his pace towards the passageway he spied by the entrance to the Pugilist’s Guild. If he recalls correctly (and he thinks he does), Momodi’s directions would have him go through the passageway, and walk through the alley he should encounter. He follows these directions, making his way through the cool, dark passage until he reaches an equally dark, but hot alleyway – full of people: vagrants, he thinks. It smells vaguely unpleasant, like discarded, rotting vegetables and sweat, and he hurries through with his head bowed. With only 100 gil to his name, he could not help them if he wanted to.

Soon, he sees the cloth rooves and wooden counters of the markets – soon after that, the _smells_ hit him. He scents the rich aroma of roast meat, along with the smell of mushrooms and butter, and the smell of other vegetables he does not know (he thinks there may be a stew on one of the market stalls’ stoves), amongst other things he does not recognise. His mouth waters as he daydreams about the food that might be on offer, but he is almost certain his current funds would not allow him to afford a substantial meal _and_ a place to sleep, so he presses on towards the centre of the marketplace. He can detect a floral smell on the air – perfume, he suspects – as well as the smell of closely-packed, hot bodies, with which he is already becoming disappointingly familiar. The noise and the aromas had piqued his interest back at the entrance to the city, but here they were proving almost overwhelming to the poor Miqo’te, his ears swivelling. For once, Iku’to curses his keen senses, as he has no means of tuning out from _any_ of the myriad stimuli he is being subjected to. His ears pick up the sounds of merchants haggling with their customers, the customers spitting obscenities as the merchants refuse to lower their prices, and stall owners calling out, trying to bring people in to inspect their wares.

Iku’to’s fascinations are interrupted as a large Hyuran man bumps into his shoulder. Without meaning to, Iku’to shrinks away from the contact, putting his ears back and hissing as his hands move to cover the bag at his waist. The man passes without even sparing a glance for Iku’to. Although his collection of possessions is pitiful at best, Iku’to has no intention of letting a pedestrian’s wandering hands liberate them from his ownership – _especially_ not his recently-earned gil, or the wind-up Moogle he carries with him wherever he goes. The Moogle toy is the last remaining possession of his deceased brother, and the only material object Iku’to has to remember him by. He gulps and slinks into the cover of shadow, hoping to calm himself a little with the familiar darkness.

As his heart rate returns to normal, he spies another of those stone structures flanked by lamp posts, standing in what appears to be the middle of the marketplace. To one side stands a large board, covered in paper held up with crude pins, which Iku’to thinks must be the board where other adventurers advertise goods they have found on their travels. To the other side stands a small bell on a pole, and Iku’to observes a lithe Elezen woman pull on the bell’s cord and shout a name – the bell rings, and to Iku’to’s amazement, a smartly-dressed Auri man appears through a doorway, approaching the woman. She proceeds to transfer the goods she is carrying in her knapsack to the pouch carried by the man, before handing him two large coins – he thinks he hears the word ‘venture’ – and sending him on his way. He gapes, bemused at the interaction. The woman turns, and blushes deeply as she beholds the sight of the young man staring at her with his mouth wide open, hurrying away thereafter. He stands there, as if frozen, for a while longer, before realising that he must be giving a very odd impression (indeed, he observes a young Hyuran couple avert their gaze as he regains his senses). He feels a fool, but reminds himself that he has been in the city nary more than a few bells, and straightens his spine, marching forth to the stone structure he noticed earlier, hoping to find Seseroga there.

He sees a Lalafell man standing there, leaning on the base of the lamp post (which provides Iku’to with some amusement, and reminds him of Wymond’s chosen position). He decides he has little to lose and approaches the man.

“Excuse me, ser,” he says, trying to sound confident, “I seek a man named Seseroga.”

“And you are?” says the man, raising an eyebrow. Iku’to does not feel that he necessarily _should_ be anxious of the man – he sports purple, upstanding hair, round spectacles, a metal earring in one pointed ear – but, despite his fairly eccentric appearance, Iku’to finds himself a little intimidated.

“My name’s Iku’to, Iku’to Vhinyota,” he replies, trying not to mumble under the man’s gaze (which is making him feel very small indeed), “and I have just bells ago enrolled at the Adventurer’s Guild.”

“Ho, a newly come adventurer. But of course,” says the man, folding his arms in front of him, “Yes, I am Seseroga. What can I do for you?" he enquires. Iku’to relaxes a little – the man seems friendly enough, he thinks.

“I had hoped for some information and guidance as to the workings of the city’s markets,” he says. Iku’to is filled with trepidation as Seseroga’s eyes seem to light up.

“Ah, you would have me teach you the ways of the marketplace? Very wise,” he says, a grin that can only be described as wolfish creeping onto his features, “as for my fee…”

Iku’to’s heart sinks. He did suspect something like this was going to happen, but he had retained the small hope that the man might provide him with even a little help free of charge.

“I-I’m sorry, I don’t-“ he starts, only for Seseroga to widen his eyes in disbelief, halting his words in their tracks.

“What? You expect me to do it for _free_!? Surely you jest.”

He looks incredulous, and levels his gaze on Iku’to.

“My _dear_ adventurer, when you ask an Ul’dahn for a favour, you should at least _try_ and make it worth his while. Judging by your garb,” he says, curling his lip as he looks Iku’to slowly up, and then down, as if illustrating his point (Iku’to has to fight the urge to cover himself with his hands), “I rather doubt you could afford my services, but the fact you offer nothing is laughable,” he sniffs, apparently attempting to dismiss the Miqo’te with a flourish of his wrist. When Iku’to does not move, Seseroga turns as if to walk away. Within the murky depths of Iku’to’s panicked mind, a small light – in the form of Momodi’s letter – makes itself known to him. He takes a deep breath.

“Wait! Please, ser…wait a moment,” he implores, scrabbling desperately at the ties on his bag. After what seems like a full bell, Iku’to finally manages to get his hand into the neck of the bag, and quickly locates the envelope. “Momodi sent me,” he says, holding out the letter towards the man. Seseroga stops and turns, twisting his face and sighing. He snatches the letter unceremoniously, affording Iku’to an icy stare, as if the fact that he _dares_ to proffer a convenient letter causes the Lalafell great offence. He peels open the seal – as slowly as he can manage, thinks Iku’to, his tail twitching in annoyance – and extracts the parchment within. The man seems to deflate before his eyes as he scans the page. Iku’to breathes a (private) sigh of relief.

“Oh.” Seseroga shuffles, and places his hand behind his head, giving Iku’to a sheepish, rather fake, smile. “Mistress Momodi instructed you to seek me out, did she? Hmph,” he says, the smile disappearing as quickly as it had arrived, “consider yourself fortunate to have such influential friends.”

Iku’to’s left eye twitches as he bites back a petulant response. The man and his attitude is quickly eating away at Iku’to’s recently-restored patience.

“I shall be brief,” says Seseroga, “and you shall be attentive.” He again provides Iku’to with a glance filled with hostility, rather as if he considers Iku’to a lump of shite that has sprouted legs and not a person. He proceeds to give Iku’to, begrudgingly, an explanation of the markets, how they help the city’s economy, and why they have made the city so prosperous.

“Anything a man could ever desire can be purchased here – provided as he has sufficient funds,” he continues, eyeing a spot uncomfortably close to Iku’to’s crotch. Again, he fights the urge to cover himself, but realises belatedly that the man is most likely looking at his bag, where one could reasonably expect him to keep any money he owns. He finishes his explanation by pointing out which items can be bought where in the markets, and offers his own brand of advice to Iku’to, suggesting he does not make decisions (about parting with coin, thinks Iku’to, a bad taste forming on his tongue) in the heat of the moment. Though he finds the Lalafellian (and Ul’dahn) obsession with gil distasteful, Iku’to cannot deny the wisdom of the comment, especially considering his current financial situation. He allows himself a moment of reverie, thinking of all the things he might buy; a new sceptre, garments more befitting the desert’s climes, tomes to read, a comfortable inn room, and new, exotic foods…

His daydream is shattered as his stomach gives a loud rumble, and he clutches his midriff, the pain of intense hunger beginning to set in. He looks up at Seseroga, and the man has the nerve to give a small, delicate laugh.

“That is all the complimentary aid you shall have from me,” he states, all but sneering at Iku’to, “and _far too much_ for my taste. My regards to Momodi. Now, off with you!”

He gives another small wave of the wrist, dismissing Iku’to. Although the information he provided will prove useful, the man is damned _insufferable_ , thinks Iku’to. He can’t bring himself to be disappointed that their interaction has come to a close. But he will not allow himself to be dismissed thus, and so, swallowing his pride and irritation, he says, with a false sense of cheer, “Many thanks, ser. Good day to you,” and leaves without waiting for a response, hurrying around the nearest corner. He leans against the building with a groan, and pinches the bridge of his nose. The exchange with Seseroga has drained what little stamina he had left, and a headache is forming.

“Good gods,” he mutters as his stomach rumbles again. He is almost unbearably hungry now, but he is reluctant to return to the marketplace – for one thing, he is unsure if he will be able to afford anything to eat, and quite apart from that he wishes never to encounter that puffed-up Lalafell again for as long as he lives. He briefly considers the possibility of luring the man and roasting him on a spit, but decides homicide might not be the best way to secure his place in history as a great and noble adventurer.

He peers up at the sky, noting the fact that it has begun to darken. The first sun of his new life is coming to its end, and he feels a creeping sense of disappointment as he considers his achievements thus far – he owns 100 gil, has been floored twice at the Aetheryte Plaza, has fallen afoul of the tasteless jokes of several Ul’dahns, and has not even _attempted_ to slay any creatures. He sighs deeply, and wonders wherever he will sleep. The thought spurs him to action, and he heads back to the market – but chooses an entrance as far away from Seseroga’s chosen spot as possible. He arrives at the stall he was heading towards, but to his dismay, the Hyuran woman behind it appears to be packing her goods away. Upon hearing his footsteps approach, she turns around, giving him a sympathetic smile.

“Sorry, love. We’re closin’ for the day,” she says. Iku’to hangs his head, and turns around in order to leave when his stomach gives its loudest rumble yet – it is practically deafening. He wheels around, ashamed, and attempts to speak, hoping to explain away the noise,

“No! I mean…that’s…it was just…” he trails off as he sees the woman stifling a chuckle with her hand. She plucks something out of the box in front of her, and holds out a round of flatbread, actually laughing as she observes Iku'to's eyes following it hungrily.

“Here. It’ll be be stale the morrow, at any rate,” she says, and Iku’to bows his head in thanks.

“Th…thank you, miss…”

“You’d best visit us again with some coin, love, or I’ll be havin’ words with Miss Momodi,” she says with a wink. Iku’to nods his head vigorously and scurries away, clutching the bread. The woman watches him leave, and returns to packing away her stall, a small smile forming as she considers her good deed.

Iku’to sits down heavily on a box in a hidden corner near the edge of the market, and greedily he eats the bread so generously offered. It is not nearly enough, but it is pleasant - soft and savoury - and at least it serves to quell the noise his empty stomach was making, he thinks. When he has finished every crumb (and even licked his fingers for good measure), he stands, and begins to make his way back to The Quicksand, scouting every corner he passes along the way in case he needs to find somewhere to curl up for the night, that he might catch even a quick spell of sleep. Though he does not relish the thought of sleeping, vulnerable and prone, on the unfamiliar streets of this unfamiliar city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a difficult one for me. There's a lot of text from Seseroga, so obviously I had to edit it a bit so it wasn't too verbose, but equally I don't want to lose the feeling that Seseroga is a condescending, money-grabbing little *insert obscenity here*. I don't want it to be 'and then he said THIS! and then he said THAT!' but if I included all the stuff he says it would be way too long and boring (because heaven knows I was bored reading his speech. Yawn).
> 
> I am honestly not 100% sure if the food is unique to Ul'dah - I THINK it is - so I just took note of the vendor entries and described them in a fairly generic, roundabout way, which is fairly difficult when the food doesn't actually... y'know... exist. Don't worry, I will work on my descriptions for when Iku'to actually eats more exciting stuff.
> 
> Iku'to is fascinated by the concept of a retainer, as he has never seen them before! I wanted to put that in somewhere.
> 
> So far, it's going at a grand old pace, but please be aware that because this chapter has been posted quite early into the editing phase (I think the other 3 chapters totalled about 10 edits each) the content, wording etc is SUBJECT TO CHANGE.
> 
> Once this scene setting is done, and Iku'to has half a bloody clue what is going on, it's likely that some of the upcoming quests will be afforded no more than a passing mention, a short description to lead onto bigger and better, more exciting things. Or at least, that's the plan.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	7. Rest at Last

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to returns to The Quicksand, devoid of a place to sleep.

Iku'to arrives back at The Quicksand after a brief walk from the marketplace, still savouring the taste of the flatbread he had wolfed down some moments beforehand. Once again, he pushes upon the unwieldy doors, entering the building (this time, he ignores the stares of the remaining patrons). He approaches Momodi, who looks up and greets him with a smile and a nod. Iku'to stifles a yawn, his fatigue beginning to catch up with him as he relaxes into the cosy atmosphere.

"How was your tour of the city, Iku'to? Get lost, did you?" she enquires, the same companionable smile on her face. Iku'to twitches his lips upwards into the ghost of a smile and looks down at the desk's surface.

"Not _lost_ , so much as..." he mumbles, trailing off. He looks up again, catching Momodi during another of her logic-defying eye rolls.

"Aye, well, Ul'dah's a big place with lots to see and do - but wanderin' around aimlessly don't pay the bills," she says. Iku'to finds himself peeved that his trials have earned the label of 'wanderin' around aimlessly', but he chooses not to comment.

"If you're serious about makin' a livin' here," she continues, "you'll need to remember where things are." Iku'to nods his agreement, feeling far too tired to respond verbally.

"So when you go explorin', explore like you've got a purpose, eh?" she finishes, raising an eyebrow in Iku'to's general direction. He has leant his elbow on the counter top, and his chin in his hand that he might rest a moment. His head feels as though it weighs a tonze, or mayhap more...he can feel his eyelids starting to droop, and half-heartedly fights against the sleep threatening to overtake him. He jumps, startled, as Momodi clears her throat loudly.

"Say, Iku'to," she says, sounding concerned, "you, uh, arranged a place to sleep?"

Iku'to's eyelids flicker open, and he retrieves his elbow from its resting place upon the desk's surface, realising he should probably give Momodi an answer. He shakes his head.

"No, I thought I might..." he gestures vaguely towards the general direction of 'outside', "find a corner...not met anyone much yet...doubt the thaumaterges would entertain the notion..." he slurs, exhaustion clouding his thoughts and making it very hard to form a coherent thought, never mind a sentence - he notices absently that at some point during the conversation, he appears to have adopted a seated position - "and I don't have the gil for an inn room..."

Iku'to groans as the reality of his situation intrudes upon his hazy thoughts, and crosses his arms on the counter, leaning his head forward so his forehead touches his forearms.

"Don't suppose you'd be kind enough to lend me a pillow?" he says blearily, only half joking. He would gladly spend the night here, at Momodi's bar-cum-desk-cum-counter, if only he had something a bit more comfortable to rest on, he thinks. When Momodi next speaks up, she sounds aghast.

"Perish the thought, Iku'to!"

Iku'to's ears droop. Momodi notices, and quickly elaborates.

"Even without the coin, I'll _not_ let an adventurer under my charge sleep on the streets! Why, the guilt I'd feel if you froze to death," she says, and Iku'to raises his head to peer at her dozily. She winks when she catches his eye.

"Follow me. It's not much, but it's the best I can do you for free - and _only for tonight_ , young man," she stresses, disappearing behind the counter as she hops down from her box (with surprising elegance, notes Iku'to). She appears again at the foot of a small, hidden staircase to the left of the series of counters, and Iku'to obediently complies as she beckons him upward. What greets him at the top is the space Iku'to reasons must serve as the inn - the narrow hallway is beset with numerous doors, all numbered. He is sure that even the apparently kind-hearted Momodi will not show him to a room - after all, she had emphasised his lack of funds - but even so Iku'to finds himself in a daze, thinking about the downy duvets and soft pillows he might snuggle into for a comfortable, luxurious night's sleep...

"Here we are." Momodi's voice pipes up from beneath him, and Iku'to stops just short of colliding with the poor woman. "Your _very temporary_ ," she says with another emphatic raise of the eyebrow up at Iku'to, "lodgings."

They have stopped in front of an unmarked door - small, by comparison to most of the others - and Momodi fiddles with a small keyring before stretching up to open the lock. The door begins to swing open, only to halt about halfway with a muffled thump. The room beyond is small and dark - but Iku'to's eyes are used to seeing in the night-time, and he can make out the sharp lines of boxes stacked on top of one another, along with the softer lines of what he assumes must be bedding. There is a small window at the back of the room, currently covered with a crude, thick, linen curtain. Iku'to realises with a jolt that Momodi has led him to one of the inn's storage closets.

"And have you eaten?" Momodi is saying, regarding him sternly. He nods, and leans against the doorframe. She breathes a sigh of relief.

"Good, good. Mayhap I'll ask chef to keep you back some stew in the mornin'. I don't want you starvin' on me." Iku'to's ears regain some of their vigour, and prick up at the mention of something more substantial than bread. Momodi watches them give Iku'to's response to her statement for him, and chuckles. She thinks the action most endearing.

"One last thing. _Please_ don't go lightin' any candles in here," she gestures inside the tiny room, "or you'll likely set the whole inn alight."

Iku'to nods again, and Momodi, apparently satisfied, pats the back of Iku'to's knee (the only polite area of his body she can reach without having to strain herself) with her tiny hand. He stumbles into the room at the prompt, thereafter hearing a soft click as Momodi closes the door behind him. At the sudden, almost complete darkness, Iku'to finds he has to stand still until his senses adjust. He is so fatigued that he can hardly stay standing, and as soon as he can make the layout of the room out in his vision, he steps forward and unceremoniously flops onto the nearest pile of linens. It's no luxurious bed, but he receives the soft, comfortable texture he has so missed with a quiet purr of delight. He sits up, removing his leather vest, gauntlets, belt and boots, so he is clad only in his loose shirt and trousers, and curls up - almost instantly, he is transported into a deep and satisfying sleep.

 

* * *

 

Iku'to awakens the next morning to see the glow of morning sunlight peeking around the edges of the room's makeshift curtain. He stretches and sits up, mortified to notice a small puddle of drool that has collected next to where his cheek had lain. He gives the offending stain a cursory scrub with his wrist, and debates informing Momodi - but decides against it, lest he incur her wrath. He stands, wiggling his tail (it has gone rather flat, to his annoyance - he supposes he must have rolled over to lie on it some time during the night) and redresses, pulling the rest of his clothing back on sleepily. He yawns and checks the contents of his pack before heading downstairs.

 

* * *

 

Momodi is busy chatting animatedly with a grizzled-looking Roegadyn, when Iku'to arrives downstairs, who is wearing the most strange, floppy white hat. He stands off to the side, waiting for them to finish, and fidgets with his tail. His tail is still stubbornly refusing to return to its former fluffiness, so Iku'to plucks a hair from the very end, hoping it might cause the thing to bristle - but succeeds only in making his eyes water. He flings his tail down, frustrated, and hears one of Momodi's trademark coughs. He reddens, realising she had been watching him (but he does not know for how long), and awkwardly approaches the desk after she has nodded him forwards. Momodi tries not to let her amusement show on her face, but the fact that she has to look at her hands to avoid laughing betrays her. Iku'to is too embarrassed at his display to say anything, so elects to stay silent for the time being. Momodi's tiny shoulders are shaking, and she presses a hand to her mouth, but manages to collect herself after a short while, taking a deep breath.

"Mornin', Iku'to. Sleep well?"

Iku'to nods.

"Y-yes. Many thanks for your kindness, Momodi," he says, sheepishly looking at the counter as he recalls the souvenir of saliva he had unwittingly left behind on the makeshift bed. She, none the wiser, gives one of her chuckles.

"Glad to hear." She points somewhere behind Iku'to, and he turns around. He spies a table; upon it sits a bowl of stew, a wooden spoon, and an empty glass.

"There you go," she says, smiling, "chef brought it in not moments ago." Iku'to realises that the large Roegadyn gentleman Momodi had been speaking with must have been the chef, and resolves to thank the man if he encounters him. He shuffles away from Momodi's counter, and his mouth begins to water as he catches the scent of the stew. It is simple fare - inoffensive and plain, to most Ul'dahns - but Iku'to can scarce contain his joy as he spots chunks of meat and vegetables floating within the broth. He seats himself at the table, and gives the bowl of food before him a good, long sniff. He decides not to stand on ceremony, and picks up his spoon that he might dig in. And he does so. He picks up a chunk of this, a chunk of that, savouring each flavour - even if he knows not the names of all the ingredients, the stew is nonetheless delicious after having dined on bread (mostly stale) for the past two moons - an unfortunate requirement, in an attempt to conserve what little coin he had remaining at the time for the last leg of his journey. He grunts happily as he chews the meat - mutton, he thinks - but all too soon, he has emptied his bowl, the sensations of new textures and tastes all but gone. He leans back, satisfied, and stretches his arms above his head. He hears a quiet thumping noise, and footsteps thereafter. He turns, curious. Momodi has appeared from behind the counter, bearing a stone jug. Iku'to tries to peer inside, but stops when Momodi tuts at him.

"Now just you wait, younglin'" she says, and rests the vessel on the table before fetching a small stool, which she clambers upon. Iku'to realises she needs it to safely reach the tabletop, and smothers a tiny smile.

"Ul'dah's finest," she declares, decanting a white, somewhat frothy liquid into Iku'to's glass. _Milk_. Iku'to eyes the glass with distaste, and Momodi sighs, rolling her eyes.

"No, it's _not_ because you're a Miqo'te," she says with a sniff, clearly offended, "I thought you might try our aldgoat milk. It's a favourite amongst the regulars. But if you don't want it - if you'd rather have orange juice..." she continues, levelling a gaze that is full of crushed hopes on Iku'to, "I can-"

Iku'to, suddenly spurred into action, grabs the glass and takes a large, pointed mouthful of the stuff. He has no quarrel with milk itself - in fact, he rather enjoys it - but he dislikes the obvious comparison between the Miqo'te and...well, cats, and has no intention of fueling the stereotypes. However, this milk is especially delicious - he thinks it is relatively fresh, as it is quite warm - and thick, creamy. His ears flutter in surprise. It's nothing like any milk he has tried before.

"Momodi, it's...it's _delicious_ ," he says, downing the remainder of the glass. Momodi pushes the jug towards him, offering him some more, but he shakes his head.

"Thank you," he says emphatically, wanting to convey just how grateful he feels, "both for the place to rest my head and this. You are too kind." Momodi seems flustered, and busies herself by placing the jug back on the table before stepping off her stool.

"Don't be silly," she says, shuffling her feet, "'twas simply that my conscience wouldn't let me leave you. I expect you'll repay me someday, eh? Oh, and..." she trails off, motioning towards her top lip with her hand. And with that, she is gone; disappearing off to wherever allows her to pop up behind her counter, which she does a short while later. Iku'to blinks, and fingers his top lip, feeling confused. Upon removing his digits, he observes that they have a film of white liquid on them - _milk_ , he realises, and swipes at his mouth with his gauntlet, feeling embarrassed. He silently thanks Momodi for the warning. He then leans back again and rubs his belly, which is finally happy - and silent - and decides that he must needs rouse himself to action, lest he remain there in a stupor and waste an entire sun. He stands up and affords Momodi a small wave and a grin - she jumps, shocked, and Iku'to sighs, resigning himself to the fact that he will likely terrify a few more innocent souls before he gets the hang of smiling properly. Banishing the melancholy that is starting to form in his mind at this thought, he decides to flex his muscles a little outside of the confines of the city; and heads towards the gates, on his way to complete Cocobuki's request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this chapter, from Momodi's 'explore like you've got a purpose' is completely fabricated. I know in my heart that I cannot write a whole story without the protagonist resting (at least a few times, in plain 'sight' of the reader) and I think after day 1, when the poor bloke has just finished his long journey, when he's had all these issues and stimulation from new things, he is likely to be mentally exhausted so I am giving him the break he deserves.
> 
> Exercising my creative right to tinker with the inn's layout, and who knows if they even have linen cupboards in Eorzea? I, for one, assume they do.
> 
> Momodi (because I see Mother Miounne, Barderon and her like this) has become a sort of mother hen character - sticking to her Lalafell roots, of course she expects she will receive compensation in some form, but she can't find it in her heart to ignore the plight of a young adventurer who has yet to really start his journey. I also plan to have her help him in other ways, but all in due time.
> 
> Obviously because all of Momodi's speech past the aforementioned point is made up, please forgive any small breaks in character. Tried to keep her as true to the Momodi I perceive (and have written thus far) as possible.
> 
> Any and all feedback appreciated.


	8. Ice and Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to attempts to slay some beasts, but it doesn't go quite to plan.
> 
> Mild trigger warning as he is slaying creatures; if you don't want to read about beasties being slain, you might want to avoid this part.

Iku'to heads out of the Gate of Nald which, he is assured, will lead him to Central Thanalan - the region Cocobuki suggested he look for the creatures he has been asked to slay. He soon catches sight of one of his quarries - scattered here and there around the area are dozens of hornets - he thinks the name 'huge hornet', as the guildmaster called them, is apt; the insects are about as long, and thicker than, Iku'to's forearm - with a stinger that looks razor-sharp attached to each of their behinds. Iku'to selects one of the beasts at random, and withdraws his sceptre, inching closer to the hornet and hoping he doesn't attract its attention. When he is within firing distance, the vilekin suddenly changes direction, turning, and Iku'to can hear the rapid beating of its wings against the air as the thing approaches his position. He freezes on instinct, not wishing to aggravate the hornet, and the hair on his tail stands to attention. To his immense surprise, the hornet simply flies past him, almost seeming not to notice him. He decides to experiment a little. Perhaps foolishly, he runs in front of the hornet. It still refuses to react to his presence. He tries again, to the same result. Iku'to stops dancing around in front of the insect and flicks his tail from side to side, pondering the situation. Perhaps their docility is the reason why the guild set these insects as a first task, he muses - because they won't attack an adventurer of their own accord, it gives the adventurer the upper hand in combat. Regardless of the fact that the creatures have ignored him thus far, Iku'to does not wish to completely place his trust in their temperament. The hornets are simply too _big_ , and the stinger too deadly (at least in appearance; even if they are, he notices, currently relaxed and pointing at the ground) to rush in without a strategy. He thinks for a short time, his ears twitching to and fro. He decides to try his luck on an isolated hornet - he is unsure if attacking would would attract the ire of others, and it's a risk he does not want to take with his career and possibly even his life as forfeit if he makes a mistake.

Iku'to prowls through the sand for a while, until he spots an insect which is, from what he can see, alone. He adopts the stance Cocobygo showed him - feet apart, knees bent, right shoulder facing the hornet - and clutches his sceptre in one sweaty palm. The sun is already beating down relentlessly, despite the early hour, and much to Iku'to's chagrin - he wants to begin practicing his _ice_ magick, so the hot sun surely will not aid this endeavour. Nonetheless, Iku'to decides to try. He remembers Cocobygo's suggestion that he wave his sceptre forth in front of his body as if throwing the spell at the enemy - and he thinks practicing the motion won't hurt. So he does - whipping the rod back and forth, until, on a particularly vigorous attempt, it slips out of his grasp and sails through the air in an elegant arc, landing in some nearby scrub. Iku'to sighs and shakes his head. He wipes his palms on his trouser legs, and retrieves the instrument from the bush - he concludes that his best option might be to attempt the task proper, as the preamble is causing him to rapidly reconsider his options - and returns to the casting position he had previously been in. He releases his magick, and he feels it rushing through him as he directs the flow to his right hand, where he holds his sceptre. The magick makes the air around the rod pulse, and Iku'to, with amazement, observes tiny ice crystals forming on the bulb at the end. He continues to release magick into the small staff, and gradually the ice builds - he is keeping one eye on the hornet, lest it move position, and when he looks back at his sceptre out of the corner of his eye, floating just in front of the end is a ball of ice. It's not large, but it would all but fill Iku'to's palm, and he feels a rush of pride at the feat. He draws his sceptre up towards his left shoulder, and flings the spell forwards towards his target with as much strength as he can muster. The missile collides with the body of the hornet with a _clunk_ , and the hornet falls. Iku'to can't quite believe his luck. He turns to leave. But his keen hearing picks up a new sound - an angry buzzing, replacing the lazy droning that much of the hornets are still producing...

Iku'to turns around, dreading what he might see - and indeed, he wishes he had not bothered. The hornet he so cheerfully struck with a ball of ice magick is rising from the place it fell, wings beating the air furiously, and that oh-so-sharp stinger is raised, pointing straight at the Miqo'te. He blanches. He had been hoping to kill the beast with one spell - sparing his energy, and its ire and potential distress. He tries to quell the panic that he can feel rising from his gut, and gulps hard, bending into his knees in case he is required to move. It turns out to be a prudent choice, as the hornet suddenly dives at Iku'to, stinger still raised. He hurls himself out of the way, but the heat of the sun is making both parties lethargic; Iku'to cannot recover quickly enough to catch himself, and so, with his momentum, he is thrown arse-over-ear down a small slope, grunting in surprise, thereafter sitting at the bottom in a daze. The sound of the hornet's wings can still be heard, but less so - Iku'to shakes his head to clear his vision and looks up: and he sees the creature preparing another jab. He supposes he cannot really blame the insect - after all, he DID attack it first, and unprovoked to boot. He finds himself wondering if he can fend it off with his sceptre, using it like a shield, but decides to keep that as a last resort, as it would render him unable to use magick. Iku'to eyes the stinger on the beast's rear end, and contemplates whether a sting would prove fatal. He certainly _hopes_ not, but he has no intention of finding out first-hand.

And so, after scrambling to his feet, Iku'to turns tail (quite literally) and runs. He bolts just as the hornet darts towards him again, and the stinger catches his back, just above his left shoulder, the tip slicing through leather and cloth and skin - mercifully, because Iku'to had made the decision to run, it is not a deep wound, but painful nonetheless: and the shock of the collision sends him tumbling forward into the sand with a howl of agony. He stays there, on all fours, panting, his whole body quaking - he is frightened, and now hurt, and he feels so very out of his depth. Almost automatically he reaches to his left shoulder with his hand to assess the damage, and his fingers come away warm, and covered in blood, as well as an unidentified dark green liquid. He lets out a shaky breath, and, realising he is sitting there prone to another attack, he turns his body around carefully (but swiftly), so he is sitting on his backside. The beast is, as Iku'to expected, readying itself for a renewed assault - and Iku'to tenses his muscles and bites back his fear, formulating in his mind a potentially very foolhardy plan (but it is the best he can come up with at such short notice). He sits still as the hornet starts to dive, still buzzing angrily, and at the last moment he rolls his body to the side - ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he grabs his sceptre from the ground and forces as much magick as he can muster into the instrument, yelling as he turns to face the hornet's back. He feels a heat rising in his body - not unlike a swell of intense emotion - and brandishes the sceptre, making the same flinging motion he attempted earlier; a ball of flame bigger than Iku'to's fist explodes out of the end of his staff, striking the hornet and instantly killing it. It falls to the ground.

Iku'to sits down heavily - first on some scrub, which he regrets, the dry leaves prickling his skin, moving to a small area of plain sand thereafter - scarce daring to believe what has just happened. He, Iku'to, the boy-turned-man who could barely produce a flame an ilm long, has just struck dead a (relatively) dangerous foe with a _fireball._ His body still shakes; but rather than terror, he is now filled with a nervous, feverish energy he does not know what to do with - so he _laughs_. Once he starts, he cannot stop, and he lies back on the sand (ignoring, or perhaps not noticing, the pain shooting from his injured shoulder), still cackling like a madman. Eventually, his adrenaline high comes to an end - laughter soon turns into a face distorting in pain as he feels the wound on his shoulder throbbing. He groans and covers his face with his hands. He decides to sit up and does so, finding that he feels a little dizzy - although not much poison can have entered his system, it being a fairly shallow cut, _some_ must have, as there is an encroaching numbness spreading from the site. He opens his bag (fortunately, he had tied it tightly this morning, and he praises his own foresight...and luck) and digs out two strips of cloth and a small phial. He uncorks the bottle and sniffs the contents, ensuring it is what he wants - it is - thereafter pouring a small measure onto one of the two cloths. He lets it soak into the fabric, reaching around (to the best of his ability, as the wound is in an awkward spot) and wiping the residue of the poison, the sand, and his own blood off his skin. He applauds his own practicality, and thanks the Twelve that he always carries various potions and useful items around with him. He very nearly retracts this thought as he presses the antidote-soaked cloth to his shoulder, gritting his teeth and hissing at the searing pain that it causes -  but does not, as this trait may very well save his hide some day, he thinks. He holds the antidote there for some time, and gradually, the feeling returns to the flesh surrounding the cut. He has no means of further tending to himself, but upon rolling his shoulders (and finding himself free of movement and _mostly_ pain-free) he decides that he will continue, and hopefully complete, his set task. He stands, still feeling the exhilaration of the moment, and realises that he must needs liberate the hornet of its stinger as proof of his kill. He brings out a small, sharp knife, and cuts the blasted thing from the dead creature, giving it a very evil glare before wrapping it in the cloth he had cleaned his wound with and storing it in his bag.

He walks for a short while towards the place Cocobuki had pointed him on his map, where he informed him he might find star marmots. He finds the location, and the beasts. They look quite inoffensive - cute, even, Iku'to thinks, with their long, feathery ears and bushy, stripy tails - but prove to be aggressive, vicious opponents. He uses the remnants of the excitement he still feels to fuel his magick. He finds that the marmots are less challenging to dispatch than the hornet - after all, there is no deadly sting to avoid - but Iku'to sustains several bite wounds from the encounter. He feels the stinging pain even on his shins, which are somewhat protected by his long leather boots. One of the creatures had hurled itself towards his face when he had missed a spell, and instinctively he had raised his sceptre - he heard a loud _thunk_ , and had lowered his limbs (raised in order to protect himself from the sharp teeth) to see, with some degree of horror, that he had just whacked the creature on the head, hard enough that it instantly lay still upon hitting the ground. With a creeping sense of regret at his unintended method of disposal, Iku'to decides to take the bodies (one slightly scorched) back to Ul'dah with him. He has noticed that the Ul'dahns seem to enjoy a spot of marmot steak, and so he ties them to his belt, planning to gift them to Momodi's chef as thanks for the delicious stew he had so enjoyed that same morning.

He presses on, feeling the exhaustion caused by the constant, raging heat coupled with an intense weariness, which he attributes to using so much magick so soon. Previously, he has barely been allowed to even _hold_ a sceptre - except on the occasions he had stolen away to the depths of the forest, and used a fallen stick to practice - so suddenly using power like this is rendering the young Miqo'te extremely mentally and physically fatigued. He trudges for a short while until he reaches the area Cocobuki told him the shrews tended to live around, and, thankfully, they are the slowest animals of the bunch - he kills only one, deciding that to slay more would be wasteful, as he is not entirely sure shrews actually yield anything useful. He reflects, however, that the 'snapping' part of their name is certainly correct, as he contemplatively sucks upon a bitten finger. He brings the body with him anyway, and heads back to the Gate of Nald, leaving his prizes with a bemused Brass Blade upon entering the city, giving the man strict instructions to deliver them to Momodi - the beasts to go to the chef, and the stinger to whoever could use it to create an antidote for the creature's sting. Iku'to is confident in his assumption that Momodi will pass the news of his conquests along to the five thaumaturges, and hums under his breath as he strolls through the city, with plans to return to the Thaumaturge's Guild in all due haste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be gentle, I have never written any form of combat before. *braces self*
> 
> So translating game combat into writing was always going to be a challenge. For one, I can't have Iku'to going around taking requests like "kill SPECIFICALLY four of x animal!". Although Square Enix have done a good job of incorporating that into the game, I feel like numbers would make the writing TOO specific - and kill some of the spontaneous nature of the story. And for another, I feel like I can't just have Iku'to go to kill something and instantly succeed without any trouble. Prepare for him to be beaten up a bit. So, Iku'to will flex his magickal muscles ONLY to the extent that he feels he needs to. Of course, he will slay more than one of each creature (after all, he needs to complete some tasks befitting a great adventurer... and also he needs practice), but just putting it out there that I won't necessarily be sticking to the game's actual quest requirements. Having him not be the perfect, infallible adventurer also gives me an opportunity for some rest scenes, especially once he meets the Scions, I feel like this will be very important to build their relationships in a believable way.
> 
> I really wanted to show two things here; Iku'to's lack of combat prowess and also his VERY practical nature. If you read his backstory I explain there what caused him to learn so many things but he is a very practical little chap so he is always likely to collect what might be useful from slain foes, and carry around things which may come in handy. I think the first one came through pretty obviously, and hopefully provides a touch of amusement.
> 
> Any and all feedback appreciated.


	9. Return and a Short Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to returns to the Thaumaterge's Guild and learns a brief, but valuable lesson in thaumaturgy.

Despite his tiredness, Iku'to walks through Ul'dah with a spring in his step (though the heat is making him slightly listless, so he soon slows his pace). Although his experience was not _completely_ positive, he has finally made what he feels is a proper start to his adventuring journey. He approaches the door to the thaumaturges' guild, looking at the small door with a touch of amusement - just now, he almost feels he could open a _thousand_ of the other, heavy doors...though his injured shoulder would certainly not thank him for this. He gives his shoulders a roll and winces as a sharp pain shoots through his left side. He supposes he will have to attend to his wound proper before heading back out into Thanalan, and _certainly_ before attempting any more combat. He pushes into the guild with his right arm and affords the general direction of the reception counter a wave before continuing to the back of the room, letting out a deep sigh of relief as the coolness of the dim room soothes his hot skin. He greets the brothers with a nod (and notices, with some bemusement, that they are in the same positions they had taken the day before, when he had met them for the first time) and makes his way to talk with Cocobuki, who is standing at the very back of the hall. Cocobuki acknowledges Iku'to with one of his funny little 'hm hm hm' chuckles, removing his hand from his ear. Iku'to tilts his head, wondering what he had been doing there.

"You have the satisfied look of a mage who has utterly vanquished his foes," he starts. From this, Iku'to infers that he must have been listening to a linkshell transmission - the man would have no way of knowing of his success otherwise - and marvels at the speed at which information can travel in this city; "I formally welcome you into the brotherhood of thaumaturges." Iku'to's tail waves, and his ears shiver in glee: knowing his efforts have not been for naught is most gratifying. Cocobuki notices his joy, and hides a smile behind his hand before continuing.

"The purpose of this trial was to gauge your capacity for wielding thaumaturgy; an innate quality the limits of which are bound by the level of aetheric energy flowing through your physical being," he says, glancing up to make sure he has Iku'to's attention, "Aether - the very stuff of life - exists within all living creatures to a greater or lesser extent. Remember this, for it is the most basic law of arcane manipulation."

Iku'to nods. He does know the _basic_ _principles_ of aether and its connection to magick, but appreciates the explanation regardless. Cocobuki presses on, presenting Iku'to with a small, leather-bound book, and explaining that Iku'to would find within suggestions of foes he might attempt to vanquish in order to improve his skills. Iku'to takes the tome, and thanks Cocobuki, distracted for a moment or two as he opens his bag to store his new hunting log. His ears prick up and he quickly raises his head as Cocobuki is saying:

"...the wellspring of your magical might will also swell in response to moments of extreme stress and duress." _Ah._ Though Iku'to does not necessarily consider the situation he had been in with the hornets _extreme_ duress, he realises that this does explain his sudden surge in power and ability during the battle. He allows a small smile to tug up the corners of his mouth. He spies that Cocobuki is fidgeting with something behind his back, and Iku'to fights the urge to overtly look and see what it is he is holding. His curiosity is practically palpable as his eyes flick about, trying to catch a glimpse of the mysterious object. Cocobuki finally succumbs and ceases fiddling.

"To celebrate your success in the field," Cocobuki says simply, looking to one side as he withdraws the object and holds it out towards the Miqo'te. Iku'to cannot mask the gasp that escapes his lips. He reaches his hands out, slightly shakily, and grasps the smooth wooden sceptre that Cocobuki has presented him with. His ears tremble as he runs his hands over the bulb at the end, and down the smooth wood. He is almost overcome - although the gift is nothing _huge_ (after all, he does own his own sceptre - as improvised and rough around the edges as it is) the gesture still touches the young man, and he just _knows_ that this will help him improve his abilities just that little bit more. His fingers find a small imperfection, a whorl, a knot in the wood, and he kneads it as his tail weaves forwards without his conscious consent, the end curling around the bottom of the staff. He is not even trying to hide the soft purr that he appears to be emitting. Cocobuki watches Iku'to caress the staff and feels his ears reddening - he had not expected the adventurer to be quite so enthusiastic about the gift, and feels a little embarrassed that he is privy to such an intimate moment. He gives a small cough, and Iku'to starts, his own face becoming pink as he realises what he has been doing.

"Cocobuki, I...th-tha-" he begins, but is silenced when Cocobuki tuts and wags his finger. He gives the Lalafell a lopsided, closed-mouthed smile, and decides to broach another important topic.

"Say, Cocobuki," he tries, and this time the guildmaster nods, "I...I would take on something new. If you have anything for me, that is..." he trails off, unsure if he should really be asking this. Cocobuki gives another of his odd laughs.

"Your burgeoning power strains against the confines of your untried mortal shell," he states (and Iku'to thinks this sounds relatively uncomfortable, but shakes his head, trying to remove the thought from his mind), "Another trial you must have! From this day forth, your tasks will be shaped by the teachings found within _Thaumaturgy: The Yawning Abyss_ , a tome penned by the renowned thaumaturge Zozomaya." He stops, eyeing Iku'to with his one visible eye. Iku'to, meanwhile, is trying to keep a blank expression from reaching his features - he has never heard of the 'renowned thaumaturge', but he does not like to seem ignorant. Cocobuki continues, explaining that each of his four brothers  will instruct Iku'to according to one of the tome's four chapters during his training. He gives a wry chuckle.

"The first chapter, "The Threat of Intimacy," falls within Cocobygo's purview. It is only fitting that one so...averse to being approached should teach you the wisdom to be uncovered therein," he finishes, waving his hand towards the Lalafell standing second from the left in their strange formation.

"Many thanks," mumbles Iku'to, and the multiple facets of his words do not pass Cocobuki by. He nods in acknowledgement, and Iku'to smiles minutely and inclines his head towards the guildmaster before approaching Cocobygo. Cocobygo does not react to his presence straight away, so Iku'to stands awkwardly for a moment or two before deciding he should perhaps speak up. He opens his mouth, and-

"Ah, yes, Iku'to," the small man suddenly pipes up, peering up at Iku'to from beneath his red hood, "I've been expecting you!"

This statement flusters Iku'to, as news of his success in the trial had only a short time ago reached the thaumaturges. He supposes (and is correct in doing so) that the brothers must have discussed their plans for him in event of his success - or failure.

"Allow me to read to you the pertinent passages from the opening chapter to Zozomaya's guide," he goes on, clearing his throat. Iku'to is reluctant to be read to thus, but keeps his mouth shut, knowing it would be foolish to air this thought. Cocobygo recites the promised section, which, summed up, details a thaumaturge's need to blast opponents from a distance - ending with lines about 'fists shattering bone'...'spears puncturing soft bellies'...and other equally unpleasant things. Iku'to's stomach churns, as if a cluster of restless serpents have taken up residence there. Cocobygo is, evidently, also affected by the words he was reading. He gives a visible shudder.

"Ugh," he says, blinking, "that last part makes me queasy no matter how often I recite it... The lesson, however, should be obvious: keep your distance from your foes," he presses on, apparently eager to distance both of them from the stomach-turning subejct matter, "Apart from the agony of being hit...or stabbed..." he adds the last part in almost as an afterthought, "you'll have a devil of a time completing an incantation with an enemy flailing his weapons at your person." He offers a small smile, going on to explain the task he would set Iku'to. He hands Iku'to a foul-smelling, but small, cloth bag, which Iku'to quickly wraps double in some of the cloth strips he carries and shoves unceremoniously into his pack without asking any questions. Cocobygo instructs him to set the contents of the thing down near the Silver Bazaar (out in Thanalan), which should _hopefully_ attract a vulture. If the creature should appear, Iku'to is to slay it and present a merchant named Fafafono with a cut of its meat.

"He doesn't mind us conducting trials so close to his shop," says Cocobygo, raising an eyebrow, "as long as he's properly compensated." Iku'to's ears twitch. Surely Cocobygo can't mean-

"...Yes, Iku'to," he says, a knowing smirk on his face, "we pay him in sorcery-blasted bird flesh. Now, off you go." He waves his hand in a dismissive motion, but Iku'to detects the smile on the man's tiny features and realises he means no disrespect by the gesture.

"All right," replies Iku'to, grinning - an action he regrets as Cocobygo lets out a small shriek before attempting to compsose himself - and Iku'to wonders just _how_ terrifying he must look when he tries to smile thus (judging by the reactions of people so far, he thinks grumpily) and resolves to try and find out.

"Ah...sorry," he says, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and gesturing to the scars on the left side of his face, "I shall get it done in all due haste," he settles on saying, with a small bow of apology. He turns to leave - not before giving the brothers a farewell wave - and heads out of the guild, deciding to pay Momodi another visit before he continues into Thanalan, his drying wound now all but forgotten.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't want to cut the speech in this one down too much because the stuff the thaumaturges say is pretty funny, and usually pretty clever, but I've summarised quite a lot of the lengthier sections that aren't 100% necessary. For longer sections I may end up paraphrasing just to save it getting too babble-filled, but that's a thought for the future.
> 
> Not an exciting chapter, and not 100% vital to story continuation, but a nice small segue and continuation nonetheless. Iku'to gets a new weapon and is overly excited about it.
> 
> I realise as I'm going on I'm actually including more of my own devised speech, actions, thoughts and so forth in my writing, and relying less on the game's text (though I still plan to use it, even if only as a guideline). This may create some dissonance as we go further down the figurative rabbit hole, but if necessary I can re-edit older chapters to try and match the feel I am developing. I want to keep everything as true to, and recognisable as, FFXIV as possible - but basically parroting the content is pointless, so we'll see where it goes. Getting more of a feel for the way characters speak but I'm constantly learning new phrases, ways they put things, and so on, so I hope in future I may be able to provide even more original conversation! I feel this will be important particularly with the introduction of the Scions.
> 
> Any and all feedback appreciated.


	10. Treatment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to returns to Momodi, and is thoroughly chastised.

Iku'to returns to the Quicksand, and upon entering, is amused to notice that Momodi is using one hand to prop up her tiny chin on the desk, her eyelids heavy. It is getting on towards the afternoon, and the heat is creeping even into this dim, stone building, sapping everyone's strength. She is not otherwise occupied, so he approaches the counter. Her head is nodding, and Iku'to decides to make his presence known, clearing his throat. Momodi jumps, and her droopy eyelids flicker lazily open. A smile of recognition crosses onto her features. She removes her elbow from the desk, and delicately stretches herself.

"Well, younglin'," she starts, her voice still thick with sleep, "got your bearin's about you yet?" Iku'to nods - although he has not yet had the opportunity to explore the whole city in earnest, he feels intimately familiar already with the Quicksand, the thaumaturges' guild, and the streets between the two.

"Mayhap it's time you ventured beyond the city walls-" she begins, interrupted by her own yawn which she tries to stifle. Iku'to tilts his head to one side, confused.

"But Momodi, did you not receive evidence of my conquests?" he enquires. Momodi's eyes widen slightly and seem to light up as her brain, still half-asleep, catches up to the conversation.

"Ah! But of course, _Master_ Vhinyota," she says with a wink, "I have arranged for your hornet's stinger to be delivered to the alchemists, the shrew's pelt will be sold at the markets," (ah, so _that's_ what they use them for, Iku'to thinks), "and as for the marmots...well, our patrons will surely dine well tonight!" she declares with a grin. She rummages around in a drawer to one side of her, and produces a handful of coins. She piles these up on the desk, and pushes them towards Iku'to.

"Your reward," she states. Iku'to's tail shivers with happiness. He is glad to have been of use. He pokes around in his bag until he finds his coin purse, and deposits the money therein.

"Anyroad. I know a bloke you might fancy speakin' to, and he you." She yawns again, resting her face in her hand. She mutters something which sounds suspiciously like 'this infernal heat', but her voice is muffled by her face's current position, her mouth squashed into her palm. Iku'to knows Momodi would not speak ill of her beloved city aloud, so the gesture tickles the Miqo'te, and his ears twitch in amusement. She returns her chin to her hand, freeing her mouth.

"Name of Papashan. You'll find him over at the Ul'dah Dispatch Yard," she continues, pointing a stubby finger at Iku'to's destination on the map, before blinking, confused, and wondering from whence the map appeared - Iku'to flicks his ears innocently and covertly re-ties the neck of his bag. Momodi thinks she must be more tired than she suspected.

"No doubt he'll have some work for you," she finishes, and her eyelids begin to fall closed once again. Iku'to transfers his weight from foot to foot, knowing he is hanging around awkwardly, but he has a question he feels he must needs ask.

"Momodi," he mumbles half-heartedly, suddenly fascinated by his his index fingertips as he presses them together, and Momodi looks up, "...d'you...would you...mayhap..." He looks into Momodi's face, and she sighs.

"Spit it out, Iku'to." He reddens, and his interest is again turned to his fingers, unable to meet Momodi's eye properly.

"Mayhap...would you be willing to help me learn to write?" he eventually says quietly, chewing his bottom lip. He chances a glance at Momodi after a few seconds. She looks bewildered.

" _Me_ _?"_ she says, incredulous, _"_ Teach _you_ _?_ " Iku'to falters, nodding his head once, slowly.

"W-well..." she sputters, "I suppose I can, but-"

"I intend to pay you for your time, should you accept," Iku'to interjects. She raises an eyebrow and hops down from her counter without another word. She scuttles away somewhere and Iku'to is left wondering if that was a dismissal. However, he hears a rustling noise a few moments later and spots Momodi, striding towards him with a few leaves of parchment in one hand, and a quill and ink in the other. She points to a vacant table, and Iku'to turns, his back to Momodi, and starts towards the table obligingly.

"Oi!" he hears, and grinds to a halt, "what _exactly_ is that?"

He turns on his heel, and Momodi is standing there, arms folded, a thunderous look in her eye. She points to her left shoulder, and the light of recognition dawns on Iku'to. How could he have forgotten? He looks at his feet.

"I...the hornet...it and I had...we had a disagreement..." he mutters, sheepish. "But I did apply antidote, Momodi, it just-"

"Slipped your mind, hmm?" she says, narrowing her eyes. "Of all the godsdamned stupid..." She trails off. She deposits the writing implements she has been grasping in a death grip (the parchment is creased beyond all usefulness) on the nearest chair.

"Upstairs, Iku'to. _Now._ " She gives him an icy, pointed stare, and marches off towards the staircase, muttering. Meekly, Iku'to follows, not daring to argue with the tiny, apparently angry woman. She leads him, upstairs, to a small white room, a pleasant breeze stirring the lace curtain at the window.

"Turn around," she says, her tone losing its sharp edge, concern taking its place. Iku'to squats down so that he is at eye-level with the Lalafell, and shuffles around so his back is facing her again. She gently touches the edges of Iku'to's torn garments, poking softly to ensure he can feel her. She is worried sick, but gives a delicate, private sigh of relief when Iku'to automatically squirms away from her touch. She knows that hornet stings are nasty, and she shudders as she recalls adventurers being brought to this room on stretchers, paralyzed from the venom and rendered all but useless. She is already fond of Iku'to, and she thanks the Twelve that he is both resourceful and, apparently, prepared for any eventuality (if the antidote he was carrying is anything to go by). She makes a mental note to give the thaumaturges a VERY stern look the next time she sees them, for putting her charge in harm's way so soon, but she smiles fondly to herself as she recalls the excitement buzzing around the Miqo'te when he returned to see her. She decides to press on.

"Iku'to, sorry, but..." she tugs at the shoulder of his shirt, "you'll have to take these off."

Iku'to, still facing away, splutters in indignation.

"B-but-"

"No buts, younglin'. It's a mess. I can lend you somethin' whilst your clothes are repai-"

"All right," Iku'to practically spits, deciding to take the path of least resistance and let Momodi help him, "I shall take it off, Momodi, if it should help you. But I would thank you if you would let me mend my own clothing." He sounds almost frantic, and Momodi wonders what has bothered him so - but decides not to pry.

Iku'to resents that he has to bare his naked torso to Momodi, but he does not want to offend the woman by declining her help. And, regardless, his shoulder has started to _ache_ , pulsing unpleasantly in time with his heartbeat. He stands, and Momodi turns her back as he strips off his leather vest, and then his shirt. He hisses as the movement stretches the skin around the gash painfully. He crosses his arms over his chest, feeling self-conscious, and squats back down with his back towards Momodi.

" 'm done," he mutters. He curls his tail around his own ankle, lest it get in the way, or poke Momodi in the eye as she works. Like this, when she faces his back again, she can see the extent of Iku'to's injury. She is relieved that it is not terrible, but from the edges of the torn flesh snake dark green vein-like lines, the skin about them an angry red. She sets herself to work soaking three cloths in three different liquids before returning to her position behind the Miqo'te.

"Now," she says, "I can't guarantee that this won't hurt - in fact," she muses, "it _will_ hurt, most like." Deciding she has said enough, she claps the first cloth to the wound. Iku'to sucks air through his teeth, and emits a long, low groan as Momodi works the liquid - another antidote, just to be on the safe side - into his back. It is a stinging, constant pain, which lingers after Momodi removes the material. She hums, pleased, regarding the cloth, which has taken on a greenish hue. The lines creeping outward from the wound have all but disappeared, though the surrounding skin is still irritated and raw. Momodi plucks the next cloth up. No preamble this time - unceremoniously, and wordlessly, she places it onto Iku'to's gash and holds it there. He practically falls over in shock, his eyes widening and his throat letting out a strangled howl as an intense, sharp pain radiates from the wound. He whimpers, and bites his lip, his breath catching.

"Sorry, younglin'," Momodi murmurs, "I _must_ be sure." She removes the cloth and peers up at the gouge in the young man's back. It looks clean, but she must needs ensure it _stays_ clean. She picks up the final piece of soaked material and rubs around the edges of the wound. Iku'to sandwiches his head between his hands, tears forming in his eyes as Momodi's onslaught continues. He finds himself wondering if she is _quite_ finished causing him more pain. He feels pathetic - light-headed, shaky and practically crying - but, almost as if she can read his mind, Momodi reaches around to give his arm a reassuring pat.

"All done, save the bandage," she says, and Iku'to wonders if she _did_ read his mind, "and don't worry. Most of your like I've treated for hornet stings are beggin' for their mothers or catatonic by now." She hums a song under her breath as she wraps the soft bandage around Iku'to's shoulder, giving his back a smart tap when she has finished. Iku'to flinches at the sudden touch, then turns around, sitting on the floor. He regards Momodi, who looks terribly pleased with her handiwork. He tries to give her a weak smile, but he is spent - he ends up grimacing, and Momodi chuckles.

"I'll leave you to fix those," she says, nodding her head towards his clothes, which he had placed (as neatly as possible) on the back of the room's small chair. She hands him two reels of thread and a needle, before making towards the door. She turns once she reaches the entryway.

"Say...if you feel up to it, come down for your writin' lesson, eh?" she says with a smile, and is gone thereafter.

Iku'to gets to work, full glad that he has kept offcuts from his bag-making endeavour to repair his vest, and that he carries copious amounts of spare cloth, with which he can patch his shirt. He whistles quietly as he sews the patches into his garments, swearing under his breath as he pokes the needle into his thumb. Soon after, he is done, and looks out of the small window. The sun is still relentless, but up here, the curtain is fluttering - Iku'to wonders absently if the breeze heralds a spell of rain. He watches the people milling about below him with only a mild interest before redressing (his shoulder still aches at the action, but the pain is muted now) and leaving the makeshift treatment room before returning to the Quicksand's main hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't think of a good title or summary without spoiling the contents of the chapter. I did state earlier that I want Momodi to be a mother-hen kind of character, so here she is, mother-henning Iku'to.
> 
> In case anyone was wondering, my current plan is to have Iku'to stay in his Miqo'te garments, but I may change that (because if it's constantly getting ripped, torn, etc, it stands to reason he would make something else or maybe someone gifts him something more practical). I need something that is fairly plain but recognisable really because it has to be very Iku'to, but I have to be able to garnish it or take away from it according to place and the story's needs. We shall see!
> 
> Any and all feedback appreciated.


	11. Alcohol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to gets his awaited writing lesson, and has a run-in with an unfamiliar entity, which knocks him for six.

Momodi is sat, swinging her short legs, at the table she had singled out earlier. As Iku'to approaches he can hear her humming a tune under her breath. He smiles to himself, glad that she seems to be back in her usual high spirits. She looks up, hearing footsteps, and smiles.

"Iku'to!" she cries, "how are you feelin'?"

As if in answer, Iku'to's stomach rumbles. His face heats and he sits down across the table from Momodi, ears drooping as he examines the tabletop in embarrassment.

"All right, thanks to you," he murmurs, giving his injured shoulder a shrug in demonstration.

"Good. Now, Iku'to," says Momodi, "I've asked chef to prepare you somethin' - two things, in fact - to keep you goin' this afternoon." She presses the tips of her fingers together, pursing her lips. "And-"

"How much do I ow-" Iku'to interrupts, assuming that a price discussion is on the cards. He is stopped mid-sentence as Momodi claps her hands before his face. He jumps, surprised.

"You're hopeless," she sighs, exasperated, "I was just gettin' to that. I held back a couple of hundred gil coins from your reward, plannin' to provide you at least some food, and if you've still no place to rest your head...well, we'll see when the time comes. That should be enough to cover the food, anyroad: plus the spoils you provided from the beastkin, which ought to make me a coin or two," she finishes, smiling. He twitches the right side of his face into a smile, but feels the need to clarify something else.

"And...the lesson?" he asks quietly.

"Gods, Iku'to, I could rob you blind without liftin' a finger!" splutters Momodi, "Yes, I consider the lesson paid for. Accept the fact that I will not have you partin' with any more of your hard-earned gil today, at least not on my behalf," she huffs, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Iku'to opens his mouth to reply.

"And DON'T say 'thank you': not until afterward, anyroad," she says, finalising that particular subject. Iku'to fidgets with the tie of his bag. Momodi's refusal to take money from him is baffling, and does not sit well with the Miqo'te - but he knows when he would be flogging a dead horse, and stays silent. He sighs, looking up, deciding that they might as well commence the writing lesson. Momodi sees the defeat in his eyes, and triumphantly hands him a quill and a leaf of (fresh, uncrumpled) parchment, and begins demonstrating and asking Iku'to to copy the letters she points to.

* * *

After the writing lesson - which they spend a good bell and a half on - Iku'to feels fairly confident about writing most of the letters Momodi has taught him. His hand is messy and sprawling, but it is legible.

"Now just keep practicin'," says Iku'to's reluctant tutor, "and you'll have it in no time." She smiles, and piles up the fruits of their labour before carefully putting them on the floor - thereafter, she jumps down off the chair herself, and takes the items in hand, depositing them on her desk before disappearing from sight.

After a short while, Momodi returns with the burly Roegadyn sporting his funny white hat - the chef - in tow. He clasps a plate in his massive hands. Iku'to straightens from his lounging position.

"Chef," says Momodi, craning her neck that she might look at the man, "this is Iku'to. He's a fledglin' adventurer, and the kind soul that provided you with the means to make today's marmot steak."

The Roegadyn practically slams the plate down in front of Iku'to, who jumps. The man grunts, and stares at Iku'to expectantly. Iku'to's mouth is beginning to water and his stomach gives another growl. He flicks his tail, feeling impatient.

"Thank you, good ser," he says, nodding his head to the man in lieu of a bow, "for this, and for the delicious stew this morning."

The chef nods his acknowledgement, eyes sparkling. Iku'to gives a forced smile. All he _really_ wishes for now is some peace and quiet, that he might enjoy his meal: but Momodi and the chef are still looking at him, eyes gleaming. He looks between the two of them, at a loss. Surely they can't-

"Tuck in, Iku'to," says Momodi, gesturing to the plate in front of him. He is crestfallen as his fears are confirmed. They want him to eat in front of them. His anxiously beating heart skips, and he gulps, wondering what misfortune might befall him if the man dislikes his reaction. He feels blood rush to his face, colouring his cheeks, as he deliberately picks up his cutlery. He sighs, realising he should probably just get on with it, and cuts into the meat. Straight away, he notices that it is much more tender than he had imagined - it falls apart with the slightest touch of the knife. He can smell garlic, and picks up another, sweeter scent alongside it. He shovels a piece of meat onto his fork, then spreads a little of the fragrant sauce atop it before taking the morsel in his salivating mouth. Iku'to tastes it, and gives a squeak of surprise. The meat practically melts in his mouth, combining with the sauce to cover his tongue in a savoury (but still a little sweet) and delicious flavour. His eyes go round and his ears wiggle in delight. Momodi coughs pointedly, and Iku'to looks up from his raptures. She is whipping her eyes back and forth between his plate and the Roegadyn man at an incredible speed, and Iku'to belatedly realises what she is getting at.

"Oh!" he says, "yes. Yes, it's ve _rrrrrrrrr_ y good."

He claps his hand over his mouth as the 'r' sound comes out as a _purr_. The big man grunts again, and smiles, apparently satisfied with the comment (though the Miqo'te's ears and tail describe his enthusiasm perfectly well on their own). When he has gone, Iku'to looks at Momodi, forlorn.

"Gods. I-I...I _purred_ at him," he wails, putting his head in his hands, "how shall I ever look the man in the eye again?"

Momodi just laughs quietly.

"I shouldn't worry. He's not ve _rrrrrrrr_ y talkative," she says, mimicking Iku'to's purr. He gives her a very dejected look and folds his arms. She chuckles again.

"My apologies. Get on and finish that whilst I fetch the rest from the kitchens." She walks away, and despite his shame, Iku'to unfurls his arms and finishes the meal. He burps daintily when he is finished and slouches into the chair. Momodi returns shortly after, bearing a tankard, which she bangs down onto the table. Iku'to jumps, alarmed.

"Ah. Sorry, younglin'," she says apologetically. She notices Iku'to sniffing the air in interest. He detects a strong, herbaceous smell coming from the vessel. Momodi explains.

"Lately chef's taken it in mind to brew us our own cactus wine," she says, pointing to the tankard, "and I would have you drink some. You seem all right now, but I've seen my fair share of cases like yours, and shock is a nasty thing. This should help take the edge off." She stops, considering a moment. "It'll work as a painkiller too, most like."

Iku'to wrinkles his nose.

"Momodi, I appreciate the gesture, but I don't- that is, I haven't-"

"Hmm, I suppose I could always pour the stuff directly into that gash of yours," she interjects, "but I can't guarantee your safety, what with the possible impurities...added extras...but if you won't drink any, you'll force my hand, younglin'," she says with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. Iku'to glares at the tiny woman. He will be damned before he allows Momodi to pour the liquid of dubious origin into the wound she has just recently cleaned so carefully. He pointedly reaches for the handle of the tankard.

"Wai-" Momodi is saying, but Iku'to has already taken it to his lips and taken a sizable glug of the stuff. He splutters as the bitter liquid hits the back of his throat; it burns there, and the back of his nose, too, and it burns as it travels down into his stomach, where he can already feel a lazy warmth beginning to settle. Momodi sighs, shaking her head.

"I advise you take the rest, but _slowly_. I don't want you reelin' and vomitin' all over my inn," she says with a sniff. Iku'to giggles feverishly. The first alcohol he has ever taken has gone straight to his head.

" 'kay'" he says, burying his nose in the tankard again. Momodi walks away with a roll of her eyes, returning to the counter. Though the drink is bitter and a little savoury (in a herby kind of way), Iku'to finds the pleasant, heavy warmth setting into his tired limbs moreish, and so, with little hesitation, he drains the rest of the wine. He supposes he should get up, but the table suddenly looks very inviting, and his eyelids are suddenly so _heavy_...he puts his arms on the table, folded, and rests his head on them, his eyes drooping to a close. In the midst of his stupor, and after what feels like only a moment (but which was, in reality, a lot longer), he feels his leg shaking, and vaguely wonders why before opening an eye and grunting.

"Iku'to! Iku'to!" Momodi is hissing, tugging at his trouser leg, "wake up!" She makes a frustrated noise and kicks his shin. He makes a noise of protest before peeling his other eye open.

" 'lo, Momodi," he slurs. He is aware, in a distant sort of way, that forming words has become very difficult.

"Don't 'lo me, younglin'," she says, her voice low, "you were snorin' so loud that someone actually _complained_." She looks a little impressed, but mostly aghast. Iku'to realises that he should probably feel embarrassed by the revelation, but he just cannot bring himself to be _bothered_.

"Shorry..." he drawls, sitting up in order to drape the top of his back over the back of the chair.

"Why don't you get some fresh air," Momodi suggests, "don't go tryin' to get to Papashan, at least _not_ ," she gives him a pointed look, "in your current state."

" 'kay," he says again. He tries to pick up his body from the back of the chair, but it doesn't seem to want to cooperate with him. He moves, limb by limb - but instead of sitting up, he flops forward onto the table with a bang and a snort.

" 's difficult," he says, looking helplessly at Momodi. She folds her arms, reluctant to help (in large part due to the fact that he is very much taller than her, she doubts she would be of much use). He sighs, and uses his hands as leverage, eventually raising himself to a standing position. Though, he notices briefly, before they give way, his knees feel alarmingly weak - and suddenly, the floor is rushing up to greet Iku'to's face, everything goes black and he is unconscious before he hits the floor.

* * *

 Momodi regards the fallen Miqo'te with a touch of disdain. Though, she reminds herself, he _was_ trying to tell her that he doesn't drink alcohol, and he _has_ been through a lot in a short space of time... However, these facts do not help her with her current predicament; a young man - slim, but nearly twice her height - sleeping soundly on the floor of her inn. She recalls thinking that he had looked tired, and wonders if perhaps the trials he had undertaken had drained him this badly and, combined with the cactus wine encouraging his lethargy, had caused his steam to simply run out. She sighs, and looks around. She spots a Hyuran man with somewhat messy, very light blonde hair and an unusual tattoo on each side of his neck, trying to be inconspicuous as he loiters. She tries to hail him.

"Oi! Excuse me!" she shouts, full glad the inn is not currently very busy. She jumps and waves her hand conspicuously at the man. He regards her with mild disinterest before looking away, pretending he had not seen her. Irked, she reluctantly leaves Iku'to (lying prone in the middle of her floor) and approaches the man. She resists the urge to stomp on his toes, exposed as they are in his leather sandals.

"Excuse me," she repeats, frowning, "I have need of a _kind_ soul," she glares at the man witheringly, "who can spare a moment to remove this poor boy to somewhere less public." The man looks disbelieving.

"You want _me_ ," he gestures to himself, "to move _that_?" he says, pointing at Iku'to's stationary form. Momodi realises the man thinks Iku'to a drunkard.

"You misunderstand. 'Tis a younglin', fresh into Ul'dah and fresh to the world of adventurin'" she sighs, "and he's still recoverin' from shock, poor lad," she explains. The man's interest seems to be piqued.

"An adventurer, hmm?" he says, tilting his head, "and can I assume that you are the owner of this fine establishment - Momodi, was it?"

"Aye, that you can," she says warily. She is unsure where the man is going with this.

"Ah! Good," he says, rubbing his hands (clad in white, fingerless gloves) together. "I've a mind to pick your brains about something later. Now, where are we taking this little chap?"

He walks over to Iku'to and scoops him up, hoisting him into his arms, hooking one around the back of his knees and one around the back of his neck, supporting him.

* * *

Iku'to is vaguely aware that he is being moved...possibly carried. Though the Hyur is trying his best not to jostle the Miqo'te as he moves towards the room Momodi is leading him to, his steps send small impact vibrations through Iku'to's body. He notices in his barely-awake state that there is something _warm_ , and close to him - he snuggles closer to the source, purring involuntarily. He smells the comforting scent of material, leather, and lavender.

* * *

The man carrying Iku'to feels his ears redden as the young Miqo'te nuzzles his face into the front of his tunic. He hears a deep, rumbling noise of contentment, and realises that Iku'to is purring, his ears twitching happily. This causes him to stop walking a moment and lean against the wall, shifting his grip slightly so Iku'to is turned in towards the man's body, in an attempt to give him a comfortable journey to their destination.

* * *

After a short walk, the two men and Momodi reach a small inn room. She gestures inside.

"You can lie him on the bed," she says quietly, "I'll take payment from him later."

The stranger strides into the room, and kneels beside the bed, gently depositing the unconscious younger man on the covers. He absently brushes away some strands of hair that have stuck to the corner of Iku'to's mouth, and Momodi observes the action with interest.

"You would ask me some questions?" she reminds the man. He stands, and turns to face her.

"Aye, I-"

They both turn to face the bed as a distressed whimper comes from thereon, interrupting them. Iku'to is making a quiet keening noise in his throat, and the man beside the bed peers over, only to notice that, to his considerable horror, there are tears running down the Miqo'te's soft cheek.

"He's-" he starts, but Momodi silences him with a finger to her lips.

"I know. He seems...troubled," she says, wishing she knew the cause of his apparent anguish, "I...could you stay by his side awhile? It's just...I've an inn to run."

The man nods, somewhat reluctantly, for his fate has already been sealed - Iku'to has grabbed the corner of his tunic in his sleep.

"Though I would hear your name before leavin' him in your care." She winks at the man, evidently having decided he means neither of them any harm. The man scratches his head and sighs.

"I suppose there's no helping it. The name's Thancred. Thancred Waters."

* * *

Momodi shuffles down the hallway, puzzled. She felt a surge of recognition at the man's name, but cannot place him. She shrugs to herself and returns to running her business.

* * *

Thancred perches on the edge of the bed, having taken the chance when Momodi left to remove Iku'to's boots, gauntlets and belt. He had peeked inside Iku'to's bag when he took off the belt, and had felt a rush of sympathy at the adventurer's sad collection of possessions. Thancred had dug in his pocket, extracting two shiny gil coins which he placed in the coin purse he found within. He had attempted to remove the youth's jerkin, going so far as to unbutton it, but soon gave up after Iku'to kept wrapping his arms around him and _cuddling_ him.

He has adopted the most comfortable position he could find; hitching one knee up, bent, onto the bed, and sitting sideways, his other leg dangling over the side. He shakes his head, and smiles at the young man. His presence must provide the Miqo'te with some comfort, as he keeps grabbing bits of Thancred's clothing in his sleep; his sleeve, his hem, anything he can lay his hands on. Hesitantly, Thancred reaches out and fondles the ears which are alternating between a dejected droop and a comfortable, satisfied upright quivering. Thancred much prefers the latter, and aims to see if he can help them stay that way for the rest of the time the young man stays asleep. The ears are soft: much softer than he had expected. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the tip of the nearest ear, a small, wry laugh rumbling forth as he reflects that Y'shtola would surely strike him dead if he was to touch her ears thus. He detects that same purring noise from Iku'to, who nuzzles his head into the touch. Thancred does not dare lie down next to Iku'to - he wants to be gone by the time he awakens - so he settles for petting him thus, trying to keep the Miqo'te's periods of despaired whimpering at bay. He stops after a while, his wrist aching. The contented purring stops almost immediately, but Thancred thinks nothing of this. Nothing, that is, until a warm, sleepy pair of hands wend their way around his waist.

"What are you-" he hisses, but is cut off by a heart-rending sob. He realises poor Iku'to must still be asleep, and assumes he is having a nightmare.

"Iku'a...Iku'a...Iku'a..." comes the breathless chant between body-shaking sobs. Thancred realises with a jolt that the young man must be hurting - and badly - for someone, probably someone he has lost. His chest aches in recognition of the fact, and he feels he must do something...anything...that might soothe the pain that is reaching him even through his unconsciousness.

"There, there," he croons softly, humming a quiet tune as he resumes rubbing Iku'to's ears. After a while, the Miqo'te is calm again, and he snuggles his face into Thancred's side in his sleep, his arms still tight about his waist. He curls his body into Thancred's bent knee, and Thancred notices a tickling sensation at his ankle - the long, red tail has snaked its way around it, and remains there with a loose grip.

* * *

A bell or two after he collapsed, Iku'to wakes. He vaguely remembers warmth - a warmth he can still feel. He snuggles closer to it, but cannot curl up as much as he would like. He realises blearily that he is pressing his body into another _person_ as he feels their knee shift in discomfort. He goes still, unsure how to proceed - whilst he can assume that the person means him no harm, he has no idea who it is sitting next to him. He would dearly love just to stay here, warm and cuddling something cosy (in this case, the man's leg), but he would at least know the name of the person on the receiving end. His head hurts, and he rolls onto his back with a moan, disentangling himself from the stranger. His eyes feel leaden, and by the time he has peeled them open, the man is leaving through the door.

"Wait!" he croaks sleepily, catching a glimpse of light ash blonde hair and black and white clothing as the stranger hurries away and his eyes begin to refocus.

* * *

Thancred is practically dozing off himself when Iku'to stirs again. He feels the Miqo'te wiggling his body, trying to snuggle closer, and Thancred moves his knee slightly as he feels a tingling sensation spread from the joint and down his leg. An unnatural stillness settles over the other, younger man. _Oh._ Thancred is on his guard instantly. Iku'to has woken up, most like. The small man rolls over onto his back with a quiet groan. His eyelids flutter as he tries to coax them open. Thancred takes the opportunity, when the other man is still sleepy and slow, to take his leave, swiftly standing up: the knee that had been bent for the last bell fails him, and he limps forth as fast as he can. As he is exiting, he hears a strangled "Wait!" - and he very nearly does, but he catches himself, shaking his head before continuing on his way back down to the Quicksand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold, my mysterious summary! The entity is alcohol, NOT Thancred. Though meeting Thancred is also quite impactful - that doesn't come into play until later on. Yay for tactile Thancred Ikky funtimes! :D
> 
> Originally, my plan was simply to have Iku'to faint and have some random stranger deposit him for Momodi in a room and leave. But somewhere along the line, my little brain thought, "hey, why don't we introduce Thancred here? That would be A GREAT idea!" < and I listened. He's just doing some intel collection in Ul'dah as he investigates and happens to be in the (right) wrong place at the (right) wrong time.
> 
> The petting and snuggling is completely guilty fluff for me, sorrynotsorry. Iku'to is just too adorable.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


	12. Confusion and Orange Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iku'to feels like he has forgotten something - maybe a lot of things - and Momodi is quite unhelpful.

Iku'to blinks, still staring at the recently-closed door. His fleeting (conscious) encounter with the stranger has left him disappointed: he had very much wanted to know who had been caring for him. He sighs, and the breath seems to scratch at the inside of his throat - it aches and stings, as if Iku'to had been shouting. This puzzles him, though he does roughly recall a distressing dream he had been having...

He stares at the ceiling, puffy-eyed, and gives a painful cough. He brings his hands up to his face and spreads them, staring contemplatively through the gaps between his fingers, trying to piece together the events of the last couple of bells. He recalls drinking that cactus wine, which had had an intense soporiphic sort of effect on him...he remembers Momodi shaking him awake and then, he remembers, his knees had given way...had he fainted? He groans again, unable to answer his own questions. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands before turning back onto his side. He pinches the fabric of the bedcover where the other man had sat, rolling it between his fingers. He thinks he remembers being carried, and in his nostrils remains the lingering, floral scent of lavender. His heart swells with gratitude for the stranger. He would like nothing more than to thank the man.

Iku'to stays lying thus for a time, kneading the bedding with his fingers. He decides that he should move - a decision with disagrees with the Miqo'te. As he sits up, his head reels, and he is hit by a wave of intense nausea. He bends his knees and buries his head between them, waiting for the feeling to pass. Ever since he was a kit, he has been known to adopt this position when feeling sick or light-headed. When he seems to feel a little better, he raises his head again, looking towards the small window. It is cracked open slightly, and a balmy evening breeze is rolling in - a dusky sort of twilight is settling over the city, and Iku'to decides that he should either leave, or pay Momodi and stay the night. He scratches his head, and realises that he has been relieved of his leather boots, gauntlets and his belt. He sees them resting nearly on the floor by the room's chair. A delicate blush creeps into Iku'to's cheeks as he realises that his vest is also unfastened, and rather crumpled - he assumes the man who had stayed by his side had attempted to remove the garment for Iku'to's comfort, but his plan had been foiled somehow. Despite himself, his lips twitch into a smile as he closes the front of his jerkin. The pain in his shoulder appears to have abated for the most part, so apart from a creeping sense of exhaustion and a thumping head, Iku'to feels, on the whole, not _too_ bad. He slides carefully off the bed and moves over to the small chair. There, he replaces his leather attire. As he stands again, preparing to leave, there comes a timid-sounding knock at the door.

"Are you alright? Than- the man I left with you said you had awoken," says a muffled, but familiar, voice. Iku'to takes a couple of steps forward and opens the door. His eyes automatically travel downwards and he beholds Momodi, holding a jug of orange juice in one hand and a glass in the other. The hand with the glass in it is raised, poised to knock again at the door. She smiles, relieved. She feels a little guilty for exposing the naive young man to chef's potent cactus wine, but she is glad to see that he looks markedly less ghastly than he had previously. She reminds herself that the beverage was (reluctantly) taken by him for the greater good, at least in her eyes - if it staves off his shock, stress, and pain, she supposes it has done its job.

"Hell of a sore head," he says, returning to sit in the chair with a grimace. Momodi wordlessly hands him the glass and decants a measure of orange juice into it. She sighs.

"Quite the performance that was," she says, levelling a stern eye on Iku'to, "but...I can't blame you, younglin'. 'Twas fortunate that the man was there to lend a hand. And," she continues, covering her mouth with her hand, "he carried you up here as if you were a _maiden_."

Iku'to's jaw drops before he can stop it, and he looks at Momodi, aghast.

"So _that's_ what-"

"Aye, you were nuzzlin' into him like a kitlin'. Clingin' onto him like your life depended on it, and _purrin'_ alongside, if I'm to take him at his word," she winks conspiratorially at Iku'to, "but I shouldn't worry. I caught him blushin' like a maiden himself when he was carryin' you up. I shouldn't doubt you left quite an impression on the poor man," she finishes with a titter.

"Momodi, _please_ ," Iku'to groans, "I don't need to know..."

She frowns, the joviality leaving her features quite suddenly.

"Say, Iku'to...anythin' botherin' you?" she asks, looking concerned, "It's just, you were...well, you seemed..." She trails off, and Iku'to shakes his head slowly.

"Nothing that you need worry yourself with, Momodi," he says gently, finally taking a sip of the orange juice. It is sweet and a little sour, and refreshes the young man. He takes a bigger sip, finding himself wondering anew who the man had been: and he realises that he is currently in the company of the only other party, besides himself and the stranger, involved in the incident.

"So," he begins, taking another fortifying drink of juice, "who was it?"

Momodi considers playing dumb, but something in Iku'to's earnest expression stops her.

"He...well. Let's just say he's someone to whom we owe a great deal, today's situation aside," she says, averting her gaze, "I shouldn't be surprised if you and he cross paths again."

"Can't you give me a name?" he implores, "I would thank the man. Or apologise." He considers a moment. "Probably both." Momodi shakes her head.

"I'm sorry, Iku'to. He bade me, and I swore to, keep his identity secret: he wishes to remain as anonymous as possible in Ul'dah," she says apologetically as Iku'to's ears droop sadly. He carefully places his now empty glass on the floor by his feet.

"Well...all right. But _thank you_ for taking care of me," he mumbles, "...I would pay you for the use of the room. How do you charge?"

"Hourly," Momodi says, her expression deadpan. Iku'to blinks slowly - once, twice - but Momodi's expression begins to lighten at his reaction. He groans.

" _Momodi_ ," he says, exasperated and a little cross.

"It's nightly, of course," she says, raising an eyebrow, "you are far too trustin', younglin'." She reaches up and attempts to pat his head (only succeeding when Iku'to bows his head towards her obligingly), "Sometimes I fair wonder if you've a workin' brain up there," she continues, a cheeky glint in her eye.

"I assume you're wantin' to stay here tonight: you don't really seem fit to go travellin', anyroad." Her voice contains an edge of concern. Iku'to nods.

"Please, Momodi - but this time I _insist_ I pay the proper rate," he stresses.

"I suppose so," she replies, "but as much as I can't object to you spendin' your coin here, can I suggest you perhaps try a couple of other rooms some nights? As long as you return here," she smiles, "you'll always be welcome. And you might enjoy seein' some other sides to the city." Iku'to tilts his head.

"I'll consider it. But all I need is somewhere to rest my head when I am in the city," he says, "and preferably not in the gutter." Momodi taps his wrist disapprovingly.

"I shouldn't think it'll come to that for you, Iku'to. Judgin' by your results so far, I'd say you'll make a fine adventurer. And besides, we've enough poor souls sleepin' rough here as is. Don't go addin' to their number."

Iku'to smiles weakly. He feels as if he has achieved very little, but the wretched ache of his every bone speaks of his stresses thus far. He sighs, and digs in his bag for his coin purse.

"So, how much..?" he says, frowning, as he is _sure_ that the purse was lighter the last time he held it. He peers inside after opening the neck, his ears twitching in surprise as he spies two lustrous new coins amongst the rest of the weathered ones. They _certainly_ hadn't been there before. He decides not to mention it to Momodi.

"Let's make it two-hundred gil for tonight," replies Momodi, holding out a tiny hand. Iku'to rummages through the coins, avoiding the new ones - for now - and handing Momodi two of them.

"Thank you. I shall leave you in peace now, younglin'. Get some rest, and try finishin' the juice," she gestures towards the jug, "it should help you feel better in the mornin'."

And then she bustles out of the room, before Iku'to can utter another word of thanks. He empties the jug gradually, opting to stay perched on the chair as he muses over the possible reasons the man had left him the gil. It is not _much_ , but it's a gesture. Iku'to ponders what, exactly, it is a gesture of - but he cannot think of anything. Eventually, he feels his eyelids drooping. He stands up, wobbling his way to the small washroom, where he relieves himself in the chamberpot and washes his face and hands using the provided water and a small, floral-smelling bar of soap (he observes, in the small looking-glass hung there, that he looks wretched - eyes swollen and red, pink nose, and tangled hair), then returns to the bedroom, throwing himself atop the sheets with a huff. After a few moments he feels his bag digging into his hip, and he grumbles as he realises he will have to get up to remove his less comfortable clothing. In fact, he reasons, owing to the warm evening air washing through the room, he may simply strip down to his smallclothes - it is a private room, after all. He does so decisively, flinging the garments down without his usual care and attention. They land in a crumpled heap on the floor. Iku'to plops himself back onto the bed, pulling back the duvet to snuggle into later, as he is full well aware that the nights get cold here. After only a few minutes of comfortable purring, Iku'to falls into a deep, calm sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually deleted this ENTIRE section by closing my browser too quickly after hitting save and had to type the whole dang thing again. Fortunately for me, I always pencil my stuff out first before typing it up.
> 
> Anyway, this was actually part of the last chapter, but it was Far Too Long. So I split it. I probably could have split the last chapter and added some of it here, but I feel like this was a good point to re-start at.
> 
> PLEASE excuse my horrible chapter titles. I'm new to this.
> 
> Any and all comments appreciated.


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